FRIVATK    LIBRARV 

—OF— 


Smitl|. 


ITV  OF  C 


A  SYLLABUS 


BY  JOHN  DEWEY 


ANN  ARBOR  MICHIGAN 

REGISTER     PUBLISHING    COMPANY 

Ube  Unlani  press 
1894 


COPYRIGHT 

JOHN    DEWEY 


PEEFATOEY  NOTE. 

The  edition  of  my  Outlines  of  Ethics  having  been  exhausted, 
I  have  prepared  the  following  pages,  primarily  for  the  use 
and  guidance  of  my  own  students.  The  demand  for  the  for- 
mer book  seems,  however,  to  justify  the  belief  that,  amid  the 
prevalence  of  pathological  and  moralistic  ethics,  there  is  room 
for  a  theory  which  conceives  of  conduct  as  the  normal  and  free  y 
living  of  life  as  it  is.  The  present  pages,  it  may  be  added, 
are  in  no  sense  a  second  edition  of  the  previous  book.  On  the 
contrary,  they  undertake  a  thorough  psychological  examination 
of  the  process  of  active  experience,  and  a  derivation  from  this 
analysis  of  the  chief  ethical  types  and  crises — a  task,  so  far  as 
I  know,  not  previously  attempted. 


EEEATA. 

Page  5,  lines  14  and  15,  for  'Jameson,  The  Moral'  etc.,  read 

'  James,  on  The  Moral '  etc. 
Page  19,  line  16,  for  'aserts,'  read  'assert.' 
Page  50,  for  'Section  XIV,'  read  'XXVI.' 
Page  73,  for  '  Chapter  V,'  read  '  Chapter  VI.' 
Page  93,  line   12,  for  'quality  is  intrinsic,'  read  'quality  is 

extrinsic.' 


2052624 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Chapter  I.     The  Nature  of  Ethical  Theory 1 

Chapter  II.     The  Factors  of  Moral  Conduct 5 

Chapter  III.     A  General  Analysis  of  Conduct 13 

Chapter  IV.     The  Moral  Consciousness 17 

Chapter  V.     Moral  Approbation 24 

Chapter  VI.     Reflective  Approbation,  Conscience 73 

Chapter  VII.     Nature  of  Obligation 94 

Chapter  VIII.     Freedom  and  Responsibility 1 24 

Chapter  IX.     Virtue  and  the  Virtues 139 


SYLLABUS-ETHICAL  THEORY. 


CHAPTER  I.— NATURE  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY. 

SECTION  I. — SUBJECT-MATTER  or  ETHICS. 

Subject-matter  of  ethical  theory  is  judgment  concerning 
the  value  of  conduct.  Three  stages.  (1)  Practical  encour- 
agement and  discouragement  of  certain  acts.  Reward  and 
punishment  primary  forms  of  such  judgments.'  ^:Next  stage, 
urging  and  restraint  through  speech.  ( See  Plato,  Protagoras, 
325-26.)OThird  stage,  reflective  judgment  as  to  reason  for 
such  acts. 

Ethical  theory  is  simply  (1)  a  systematic  judgment  of  value. 
The  way  is  prepared  for  this  through  the  fact  that  primitive 
judgments  relate  not  to  isolated  acts,  but  to  habits  of  action, 
and  to  the  types  of  character  which  are  disposed  to  induce 
those  habits.  Necessary  spontaneous  generalizations.  Codes, 
customary  and  legislative. 

Demand  for  more  systematic  generalization  arises  when, 
through  an  extension  of  the  area  of  life,  former  habits  begin 
to  conflict  with  each  other.  Illustrated  by  Athenian  life ;  by 
Roman ;  by  modern  since  the  Renascence.  Ethical  theory  is 
thus  (2)  a  critical  judgment  upon  conduct.  Not  systematic 
in  the  sense  that  it  simply  catalogues  previous  judgments,  but 
in  the  sense  that  it  attempts  to  reconstruct  them  on  the  basis 
of  a  deeper  principle.  ( See  Sec.  2. ) 

It  is  a  matter  of  indifference  whether  we  say  ethical  theory 
attempts  to  systematize  (in  the  above  sense)  judgments  about 
the  value  of  conduct,  or  attempts  to  systematize  conduct  itself. 
Every  act  (consciously  performed)  is  a  judgment  of  value: 
the  act  done  is  done  because  it  is  thought  to  be  worth  ivhile,  or 
valuable..  Thus  a  man's  real  (as  distinct  from  his  nominal  or 


—  2  — 

symbolic)  theory  of  conduct  can  be  told  only  from  his  acts. 
Conversely,  every  judgment  about  conduct  is  itself  an  act ;  it 
marks  a  practical  and  not  simply  a  theoretical  attitude.  That 
is,  it  does  not  lie  outside  of  the  matter  judged  (conduct),  but 
constitutes  a  part  of  its  development ;  conduct  is  different 
after,  and  because  of  the  judgment.  111.  in  education,  where 
the  main  point  is  not  so  much  to  get  certain  acts  done,  as  to 
induce  in  the  child  certain  ways  of  valuing  acts,  from  which 
the  performance  of  the  specific  deeds  will  naturally  follow. 
That  is,  the  best  education  aims  to  train  conscience.  Ethical 
theory  is  only  a  more  conscious  and  more  generalized  phase  of 
conduct.  Analogy  with  place  of  theory  in  modern  (experi- 
mental) science.  A  theory  not  a  fixed  or  abstract  truth,  but  a 
standpoint  and  method  for  some  activity.  It  is  in  this  (the 
activity  as  directed  by  theory)  that  the  value  of  the  theory 
comes  out  and  is  tested.  ( See  Sec.  3. ) 

References :  Definitions  of  ethics  will  be  found  in  Mur- 
ray, Introduction  to  Ethics,  pp.  1-7 ;  Porter,  Elements  of 
Moral  Science,  Introductory;  Muirhead,  Elements  of  Ethics, 
chaps.  1  and  2 ;  Mackenzie,  Manual  of  Ethics,  Introduction  ; 
Bowne,  Principles  of  Ethics,  Introduction. 

SEC.  II. —  RISE  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY. 

Origin  of  reflective  morality  was  in  Greece.  Other  ethical 
codes  were  either  customary  or  else  conceived  to  be  absolute  em- 
anations from  a  divine  will.  The  Greek  was  in  the  habit  of  dis- 
cussing questions  regarding  ends  and  means  of  life.  This 
strengthened*by  growth  of  democracy.  Also  by  methods  of  ed- 
ucation, which  (in  Athens)  relied  upon  appeal  to  individual's 
own  intelligence  rather  than  upon  conformity  to  fixed  rule. 
(Davidson,  Aristotle  and  Greek  Education,  pp.  11,  70,  86-87.) 
Development  of  commerce,  and  more  general  social  intercourse 
among  the  Greeks,  with  growth  of  science  and  art.  resulted  in 
Sophist,  who  undertook  to  teach  virtue  and  methods  and  aims  of 
political  influence  ;  he  also  discussed  the  moral  standard,  some 
denying  any  moral  criterion  whatever,  holding  it  possible  to 


—  3  — 

prove  arbitrarily  an  act  either  right  or  wrong ;  others  holding 
the  source  of  moral  law  to  be  the  superior  power  of  the  ruler. 
Thus  they  raised  the  question  whether  moral  distinctions  exist 
in  the  nature  of  things,  or  simply  by  arbitrary  enactment,  or 
for  convenience  and  expediency.  While  the  Sophists  them- 
selves tended  to  answer  the  question  in  one  of  the  two  latter 
senses,  the  dramatists  (JEschylus  and  Sophocles)  had,  amid 
the  disintegration  of  the  lower  religious  beliefs,  attempted  to 
maintain  an  eternal  and  intrinsic  moral  law  and  ideal.  Soc- 
rates took  the  latter  position,  and  attempted  to  uphold  it  by 
means  of  the  weapons  of  the  Sophists  themselves,  i.  e.,  by 
inquiry  and  reflection.  He  attacked  the  ideas  that  morality  is 
based  upon  the  will  of  the  stronger,  that  it  rests  upon  custom, 
and  that  it  is  adequately  expressed  in  the  more  or  less  hap- 
hazard and  external  conclusions  of  the  poets  and  ordinary 
moral  teachers  of  the  times.  (See  Plato,  Republic,  Books 
1-3. )  He  insisted  that  the  only  adequate  and  sure  basis  for 
morality  is  knowledge  of  the  Good,  i.  e.,  true  end  of  life,  and 
ability  to  refer  the  value  of  particular  acts  and  aims  to  this 
supreme  end.  He  thus  became  the  founder  of  conscious 
ethical  theory. 

See  Sidgwick,  History  of  Ethics,  esp.  ch.  2  ;  Grant,  Ethics 
.  of  Aristotle,  ch.  2 ;   Paulsen,  Ethik,  bk.  1,  ch.  1  ;  Grote,  His- 

(j  ?**  tory  of  Greece,  chs.  57  and  58  ;  Hegel,  History  of  Philosophy 
(trans,  by  Haldane),  vol.  1 ;  Fairbanks,  on  Sophocles's  Ethics, 

y  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  vol.  2,  77  ;  and  Butcher,  As- 
pects of  Greek  Genius  ;  Hellenica,  essays  by  Myers  and  Abbott. 
Consult  also  histories  of  philosophy  by  Erdmann,  Windelband, 
and  TJeberweg,  portions  treating  of  Sophists  and  Socrates. 

SECTION  III. — RELATION  OF  MORAL  THEORY  TO  PRACTICE. 

As  already  said,  ethical  theory  arises  from  practical  needs, 
and  is  not  simply  a  judgment  about  conduct,  but  a  part  of  con- 
duct, a  practical  fact.  (See  Aristotle,  Ethics,  Book  I,  Chs.  2 
and  3;  Ch.  6;  Book  X,  Ch.  9).  The  inference  sometimes 
drawn  from  this  is  that  ethics  is  not  a  science  but  an  art. 


(For  two  strong  statements  of  this  view,  see  Mill,  Logic,  Book 
6,  Ch.  12,  and  Martineau,  Essays,  Vol.  2,  pp.  6-9;  strong 
statement  of  contrary  view,  see  Bradley,  Logic,  pp.  247-249. 
We  have  to  ask,  therefore,  whether  ethics  is  practical  in  value, 
because  it  is,  or  is  not,  a  science.  The  former  position  will  be 
taken. 

1.  Moral  value  not  equivalent  to  preaching  or  moralizing. 
Truth  has  its  own  moral  value,  all  the  greater  because  not 
deflected  to  serve  some  immediate  end  of  exhortation. 

2.  Current  antithesis  between  science  and  art  not  tenable. 
Science  does  not  teach  us  to  know;  it  is  the  knowing;  art  does 
not  teach  us  to  do,  it  is  the  doing.     Art  of  morality  is^practice 
of  it,  not  rules  laid  down.     Same  of  art  of  dyeing,  of  mensura- 
tion, etc.     Rules  give  basis  for  mechanical  routine,  not  for  art. 
Art  is  based  upon  insight  into  truth,  or  relations  involved. 

3.  Question  whether  word  'science'  or  word  'art'  is  to  be 
applied  to  ethics  is  of  very  little  account.     But  question  is  as  to 
whether  ethics  is  to  be  regarded  as  helpful  to  morals  because 
of  scientific  insight  into  truth  afforded,  or  because  of  its  formu- 
lation of  precepts  for  action.     In  the  latter  case,  it  "  helps  " 
the  moral  life,  only  by  depriving  it  of  its  freedom.      Ill  by 
physiology  and  hygiene.     In  former  case,  helps  by  freeing  it: 
by  making  it  more  significant  and  effective — as  knowledge  of 
mechanics  helps  a  bridge  builder.     Importance  of  distinction 
illustrated  by  moral  value  of  teachings  of  Jesus:  Did  he  lay 
down  rules  for  life,  or  did  he  give  insight  into  nature  of  life  ? 
That  is,  is  "salvation"  conformity  to  some  scheme  laid  down, 
or  is  it  the  freeing  of  life  reached  through  knowledge  of  its 
real  nature  and  relations  ? 

Summary.  So  far  as  agent  needs  rules,  or  fixed  precepts, 
he  does  not  perform  his  deeds  from  full  personal  preference, 
and  hence  is  only  imperfectly  moral:  so  far  as  he  understands 
and  is  personally  interested  in  the  acts  demanded,  he  needs  no 
rules.  Hence  the  absurdity  of  defining  ethical  theory  from 
the  standpoint  of  rules.  Casuistry.  Difference  between  a 
principle  and  a  rule;  former  a  method  for  action,  latter  a 


—  5  — 

prescription  for  it;  former  experimental,  latter  fixed;  former 
orders  in  sense  of  setting  in  order,  latter  in  sense  of  command- 
ing. 

Practical  value  of  moral  theory  is  both  destructive  and 
constructive.  Negative  side  always  visible  first.  In  ideal, 
destruction  is  only  the  reaction  of  the  construction.  So  far  as 
two  are  separated,  reform  becomes  merely  sentimental,  or  else 
mere  fault  finding. 

On  practical  value  of  moral  theory,  see  Muirhead,  Ele- 
ments, Ch.  3;  Lotze,  Practical  Philosophy,  Introduction. 
Bradley,  Ethical  Studies,  pp.  174-175.  Green,  Prolegomena 
to  Ethics,  pp.  338-360;  Hoeffding,  Ethik,  pp.  1-9;  Interna- 
tional Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  I,  No.  2,  Art.  by  Dewey,  on  Moral 
Theory  and  Moral  Practice;  p.  330,  by  Jamesws.  '  The  moral 
Philosopher  and  the  Moral  Life  (a  very  strong  statement  of  -yj 

the  practical  character  of  the  moral  judgment);  Vol.  4,  p.  160,     ,    >I \V- 
by  Mackenzie,  on  Moral  Science  and  Moral  Life.     .A  w&^*  W*^ 

CHAPTEE  II— THE  FACTORS  OF  MORAL  CONDUCT. 
THE  AGENT  AND  HIS  SPHERE  OF  ACTION. 

SECTION  IV. — CONDUCT  AS  REFERRED  TO  THE  AGENT. 

No  act  is  a  part  of  conduct  except  as  it  is  a  part  of  a  sys- 
tem of  plans  (purposes)  and  interests.  Theory  arose  (as 
already  seen)  when  these  plans  and  interests  were  reflected 
upon  with  a  view  to  their  unification.  Thus  (for  all  European 
peoples  since  Socrates)  an  act  must  express  character  if  it  is 
to  have  moral  meaning;  it  must  be  considered  as  the  outcome 
of  some  aim  and  interest  on  the  part  of  a  conscious  agent. 
( Spencer,  Data  of  Ethics,  Ch.  I. ) 

The  elements  involved  in  such  reference  of  an  act  to  an 
agent  are:  1.  Some  knowledge  of  what  he  is  about;  that  is, 
some  end  in  view  in  doing  the  act.  2.  Some  interest  in  the 
act;  the  act  is  chosen  or  preferred.  The  agent  not  only  knows 
what  he  is  about  as  a  reasoning  automaton  might,  but  the  act 
appeals  to  him,  has  value  for  him. 

3.  The  insight  and  the  interest  must  be  more  than  momen- 


6 

tary — they  must  express  some  stability.  The  act  must  proceed 
from  a  disposition,  an  established  tendency,  to  act  thus  and  so. 

This  analysis  was  begun  by  Socrates  and  practically  com- 
pleted by  Aristotle.  See  Xenophon,  Memorabilia,  III,  Ch.  9; 
Plato,  Protagoras,  esp.  352-359;  Apol.  25;  and  Aristotle, 
Ethics,  Book  II,  Ch.  4.  See  also  Green,  Prolegomena,  pp. 
268-72. 

The  contact  of  Greek  thought  with  Semitic  conceptions 
(particularly  through  Christianity)  emphasized  the  necessary 
reference  of  conduct  to  the  agent.  It  made  holiness  of  will 
(character,  dominating  idea  and  interest)  the  ideal,  rather  than 
the  performance  of  certain  acts:  (compare  idea  of  justifica- 
tion by  faith)  and  proclaimed  the  criterion  of  moral  worth  to 
be  in  the  personal  attitude,  rathor  than  in  the  particular  act. 
(See,  e.  g.,  I.  Corinthians,  Ch.  13).  In  its  extreme  forms,  this 
emphasis  made  the  act  almost  indifferent;  it  was  regarded  as 
somehow  "external,"  the  ideal  and  attitude  being  all  sufficient 
per  se. 

The  contact  with  the  Germanic  peoples,  with  their  strong 
Romanticism,  emphasized  also  the  other  factor  in  the  analysis 
— namely  the  insistence  upon  the  agent's  own  interest  in  his 
acts.  It  asserted  the  right  of  the  individual  to  chose  his  own 
ends,  and  the  worthlessness  (the  slavery)  of  all  acts  not  per- 
formed because  of  this  personal  preference.  In  its  extreme 
form,  this  spirit  became  the  demand  for  unlimited  personal 
enjoyment — not  mere  sensuous  enjoyment,  but  the  right  of  the 
individual  to  realize  to  the  uttermost  the  emotional  value  of  his 
own  acts. 

See  Green,  Works,  Vol.  Ill,  p.  92;  Carlyle,  Sartor  Resar- 
tus,  Book  II,  Ch.  9  (on  the  happiness  of  the  shoe-black); 
Royce,  Religious  Aspect  of  Philosophy,  pp.  110-126.  Seth 
(editor)  Essays  in  Philosophic  Criticism,  Kilpatrick,  on  Pessi- 
mism and  the  religious  Consciousness. 

SECTION  V. — REFERENCE  OF  CONDUCT  TO  THE  SPHERE  OF  ACTION. 
In  analyzing  conduct,  it  is  just  as  important  to  consider 


the  situation  as  the  agent.  While  conduct  proceeds  from  an 
agent,  the  agent  himself  act  with  reference  to  the  conditions 
as  they  present  themselves.  Conditions  (environment)  con- 
stitute action  in  the  following  ways: 

1.  The  agent  is  moulded  through  education,  unconscious 
and  conscious,  into  certain  habits  of  thinking  and  feeling  as 
well  as  acting.     His  act,  therefore,  partakes  of  the  aims  and 
disposition  of  his  race  and  time.      (See  Grote,  Plato,  Vol.  I, 
p.  249,  for  a  strong  statement  of  tbis  influence). 

2.  Our  acts  are  controlled  by  the  demands  made  upon  us. 
These  demands  include  not  simply  the  express  requirements 
of  other  persons,  but  the  customary  expectations  of  the  family, 
social  circle,  trade  or  profession  ;    the  stimuli  of  surrounding 
objects,  tools,  books,  &c. ;  the  range  and  quality  of  opportuni- 
ties offorded. 

3.  No  idea,  plan,  wish  whatever,  can  pass  into  action  save 
through  the  forces  of  the  environment.    Unless,  then,  we  mean 
to  confine  our  definition  of  conduct  entirely  to  inner  states  of 
consciousness,  we  must  include  the  scene  of  action  within  the 
definition.     But  the  situation  does  more  than  execute  the  plan  ; 
through  its  acceptance  or  rejection  of  it,  partial  or  complete, 
it  reacts   into  consciousness,  and  strengthens  or  modifies  the 
plan.     All   existing  ideals  of  all   practical    (i.   e.,   non-senti- 
mental)    agents    are   the   outcome   of    such    a   struggle   for 
realization. 

HISTORIC. — At  the  outset  of  reflection,  equal  emphasis  was 
put  upon  the  reference  both  to  the  agent  and  to  the  situation. 
Ethics,  dealing  with  conduct  in  its  individual  reference,  and 
politics,  dealing  with  it  in  reference  to  the  scene  of  action, 
were  not  separated.  Plato,  Kepublic,  II.  368-9,  IV.  427^45 ; 
Aristotle,  Ethics,  X.,  ch.  9 ;  Politics,  I.,  chs.  1  and  2  ;  III.,  ch. 
12.  The  term  ethos  meant  the  disposition  or  prevailing  habit 
of  the  community  (compare  Lat.  mos,  mores),  and  it  only 
gradually  shaded  over  into  the  idea  of  individual  character. 
The  exclusive  reference  of  conduct  to  the  individual  came  later, 
and  was  due,  partly,  to  the  influence  of  Christianity  already 


—  8  — 

referred  to,  and  partly  to  the  general   disintegration  of  local 
customs  and  interests,  consequent  upon  the   growth  of   the 
Boman  Empire.     (See  Eenan,  Hibbert  Lectures,  1880.)    The 
result  was  that  the  individual  was  thrown  back  into  himself, 
the  conditions  of  action  seeming  indifferent  and  even  hostile  to 
the  realization  of  moral  aims.     Stoic,  Epicurean,  and  Sceptic 
all  agreed  in  setting  up  as  their  ideal  the  individual,  self -suffici- 
ent to  himself,  independent  of  everything  beyond  himself— 
that  is,  everything  beyond  his  own  consciousness.      (Sidgwick, 
History  of  Ethics,  pp.  70-73  ;  Windelband,  History  of  Philos- 
ophy,' 164-170).     The  identification  of  the  highest  ideal  with 
a  good  capable  of  realization  only  through  supernatural  assist- 
ance, and,  as  to  content,  only  in   another  world,  led  in  the 
Middle  Ages  to  considering  the  present  conditions  of  action  as 
indifferent  or  profane,  the  state  as  the  realm  of  force,  not  moral 
aims ;    and  there  was  a  corresponding  exclusion  of  objective 
factors  from  the  theory  of  conduct.     Since  the  Reformation, 
however,  the  tendency  has  been  steadily  the  other  way.    It  has 
culminated  in  the  present  generation  through  the  development 
of  the  idea  of  evolution  and  of  the  historical  method,  on  the 
scientific  side ;    and  through  the  growth   of   reforming    and  « 
philanthropic  interest  on  the  practical  side.     The  former  have 
shown  the  immense  part  played  by  historic  antecedents  and  by 
environment,  physical  and  social,  in  shaping  conduct.     The 
latter  has  revealed  that  one  of  the  chief  obstacles  to  general 
and  permanent  moral  reforms  is  unfavorable  institutions  and 
habits  of  living. 

Herder,  Philosophy  of  History  Book  IX.,  and  Comte,  Posi- 
tive Philosophy  Book  VI.,  are  important  references  in  the  his- 
torical development  of  the  present  point  of  view.  For  various 
ideas  on  the  social  nature  of  ethics,  see  Alexander,  Moral  Order 
and  Progress,  pp.  5-15,  81-96  ;  Yale  Review,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  301 
and  354,  Hadley,  Ethics  as  Political  Science ;  Mind,  Vol.  II., 
p.  453,  Barratt,  Ethics  and  Politics;  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  222,  Wal- 
lace, Ethics  and  Sociology ;  International  Journal  of  Ethics, 
Vol.  III.,  p.  281,  Mackenzie,  Ethics  and  Economics ;  Vol.  IV., 


9 

p.  133,  Hibben,  Ethics  and  Jurisprudence ;  Journal  Specu- 
lative Philosophy,  Vol.  XXII.,  p.  322,  Patten,  Economics  and 
Morality.  The  necessity  of  including  social  conditions  and 
relations  in  the  idea  of  conduct  is  brought  out,  from  different 
points  of  view,  in  Spencer,  Data,  ch.  8  ;  Stephen,  Science  of 
Ethics,  ch.  3 ;  Green,  Prolegomena,  pp.  191-201 ;  Bradley, 
Ethical  Studies,  pp.  148-156. 

SEC.  VI. —  TWOFOLD  FORMULA  FOR  CONDUCT. 

We  may  sum  up  the  foregoing,  on  its  practical  side,  by 
saying  that  in  order  to  secure  right  conduct  we  find  ourselves 
under  the  necessity  of  paying  equal  attention  to  the  agent  and 
to  the  conditions  with  reference  to  which  he  acts.  No  amount 
•of  external  pressure  or  influence  can  secure  right  conduct  of 
an  agent,  except  in  so  far  as  it  ceases  to  be  external;  except, 
that  is,  as  it  is  .taken  up  into  the  purpose  and  interests  of  the 
agent  himself.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  no  way  to  de- 
velop within  the  individual  right  plans,  and  to  attach  right 
values  to  ends,  save  as  these  plans  reflect  the  requirements  of 
the  situation  in  which  he  finds  himself. 

A  business  situation  gives  an  illustration.  The  agent,  to 
be  successful,  must  form  his  plans  with  reference  to  his  condi- 
tions— state  of  raw  material,  transportation  facilities,  demand 
in  market,  and  others  competing  to  supply  this  demand.  His 
purposes,  so  far  as  rightly  formed,  are  a  synthesis  or  co-ordi- 
nation of  the  prevailing  conditions  of  his  scene  of  action.  But 
this  situation  is  not  something  hard  and  fixed,  outside  of  the 
agent.  What  the  situation  is  to  him  depends  upon  his  own 
capacities — his  resources,  skill,  &c.  He  himself  is  a  part  of 
the  conditions  to  be  taken  into  account.  Inferior  raw  material 
will  yield  to  an  invention  which  enables  him  to  get  more  out 
of  it,  remoteness  from  market  to  his  ability  to  contrive  new 
methods  of  transportation,  &c.  In  other  words,  the  situation 
is  nothing  but  the  complete  co-ordination  of  all  his  poicers 
(abilities)  and  relations. 


\ 


—  10  — 

Thus  it  is  with  that  larger  success  in  conduct,  termed  mo- 
rality. From  the  standpoint  of  the  individual  agent, 

Conduct  is  the  co-ordinating,  or  bringing  to  a  unity  of 
aim  and  interest,  the  different  elements  of  a  complex  situation. 

From  the  standpoint  of  the  scene  of  action, 

Conduct  is  co-ordinating,  in  an  organized  way,  the  con- 
crete powers,  the  impulses  and  habits,  of  an  individual  agent. 

(See  Alexander,  Moral  Order,  pp.  97-130.) 

SEC.  VII. — MOBAL  FUNCTIONS. 

Conduct  may  be  considered  as  the  same  consciously  that  a 
biological  function  is  unconsciously.  It  is  the  nature  of  every 
function  to  include  within  itself  both  organ  and  environment. 
The  act  of  respiration  is  a  co-ordination  of  lungs  as  organ  and 
air  as  environment.  So  digestion,  locomotion,  &c.  We  are 
apt  at  first  to  identify  function  with  the  organ  alone,  and  con- 
ceive of  environment  as  if  it  bore  a  more  external  relation  to 
it.  But  the  reference  to  environment  is  absolute  and  intrinsic. 
The  organ  is  the  point  of  initiation  for  the  function,  and  is 
more  permanent  than  any  particular  portion  of  the  environ- 
ment. It  is  thus  of  more  immediate  importance.  But  it  is 
the  environment,  comprehended  in  the  exercise  of  the  func- 
tion, that  finally  fixes  the  organ  (as  food  builds  up  the  organ- 
ism), and  thus,  indirectly  or  mediately,  the  environment  is  of 
the  most  importance.  (Compare  the  mutual  dependence  of 
"  apperception  "  and  "  retention."  Psychology,  p.  149. ) 

It  is  equally  an  error  then  to  consider  either  organ  or  en- 
vironment as  fixed  in  itself.  Function  is  not  the  exercise  of  a 
predetermined  organ  upon  an  external  environment,  nor  is  it 
the  adjustment  of  an  organ  to  a  predetermined  environment. 
J  The  nature  of  the  function  determines  both  the  organ  and  the 
'  environment.  Two  animals  in  whom  the  function  of  nutrition 
is  differently  performed  have,  in  virtue  of  that  fact,  different 
environments  as  well  as  different  organs.  Spencer,  (Biology, 
Part  I.,  ch.  4;  Psychology,  Part  III.;  Ethics,  pp.  75-76)  has 
defined  life,  mind,  and  conduct  as  adjustment  of  inner  rela- 


—  11  — 

tions  to  outer ;  but  the  separation  involved  in  calling  one 
"  inner  "  and  the  other  "  outer  "  marks  the  failure  to  recognize 
that  function  is  not  a  parallelism  between  organ  and  environ- 
ment, but  includes  and  determines  both. 

SEC.  VIII. —  ETHICAL  POSTULATE. 

Interpreted  in  moral  terms,  the  foregoing  means  that  moral 
conduct  cannot  be  adequately  conceived  as  the  property  or  per- 
formance of  the  agent  alone.  The  agent  corresponds  to  the 
organ  biologically,  and  is  thus,  in  itself,  simply  an  instrument 
for  exercising  certain  functions.  Its  structure,  its  aims,  its 
interests,  are  controlled  by  the  ends  to  be  reached,  and  these 
ends  include  the  conditions  of  action  as  well  as  the  instrument. 
In  other  words,  we  cannot  take  the  agent  as  final  in  defining 
conduct,  because  we  demand  a  certain  structure  of  the  agent. 

Conversely,  we  require  that  the  conditions  of  action  be 
modified  so  as  to  permit  the  exercise  of  functions,  so  as  to 
become  the  means  of  the  realization  of  ends.  The  exer- 
cise of  function  itself  tends  to  this  transformation  of  environ- 
ment. ( Illustrated  by  nutrition,  by  industry,  by  valor,  &c. ) 

Defining  conduct  from  the  standpoint  of  the  action,  which 
includes  both  agent  and  his  scene  of  action,  we  see  that 

The  conduct  required  truly  to  express  an  agent  is,  at  the 
same  lime,  the  conduct  required  to  maintain  the  situation  in 
tvhich  he  is  placed;  while,  conversely,  the  conduct  that  truly 
meets  the  situation  is  that  which  furthers  the  agent. 

The  word  "  truly  "  in  this  statement  means  with  reference 
to  the  exercise  of  function. 

This  statement  may  be  termed  the  ethical  postulate.  Its 
analogy  with  the  scientific  postulate — uniformity  of  nature, 
reign  of  law,  &c.  That  is,  we  demand  order  in  our  experience. 
The  only  proof  of  its  existence  is  in  the  results  reached  by 
making  the  demand.  The  postulate  is  verified  by  being  acted 
upon.  The  proof  is  experimental. 

The  ethical  postulate,  in  other  words,  expresses  the  fact 
that  moral  experience  continually  demands  of  every  agent  that 


—  19  — 

1  _ 

he  shape  his  plans  and  interests  so  that  they  meet  the  needs 
of  the  situation,  while  it  also  requires  that,  through  the  agent, 
the  situation  be  so  modified  as  to  enable  the  agent  to  express 
himself  freely. 

See  Dewey,  Outlines  of  Ethical  Theory,  p.  131. 

The  discussion  of  conduct  in  relation  to  the  agent  consti- 
tutes psychological  ethics :  in  relation  to  the  conditions  of 
action,  social  ethics.  It  must  be  borne  in  mind,  however,  that 
this  distinction  is  one  of  point  of  view  taken,  not  of  material 
involved:  the  agent,  that  is,  is  a  social  fact  as  well  as  a  psy- 
chical fact,  and  the  conditions  of  action  have  a  psychical  as 
well  as  a  social  meaning. 

It  should  also  be  borne  in  mind  throughout  the  whole  dis- 
cussion that  the  aim  is  not  to  discover  the  ideal  at  which  all 
conduct  aims,  nor  the  law  which  it  should  follow;  the  aim, 
once  more,  is  not  to  find  precepts  or  rules,  but  to  analyze  con- 
duct. The  question  is  concerning  the  nature  of  any  ideal  and 
the  part  which  it  plays  in  conduct;  the  conditions  which  must 
be  met  to  entitle  any  fact  to  the  name  of  law,  etc. 


PART  II.— PSYCHOLOGICAL  ETHICS. 


CHAPTER  III.— A  GENERAL  ANALYSIS  OF  CONDUCT. 

SECTION  IX. — THE  NATTJKE  OF  IMPULSE. 

All  conduct  is  at  first  impulsive.  It  has  no  end  con- 
sciously in  view.  The  self  is  constantly  performing  certain 
acts  more  or  less  determined  in  results,  but  without  distinct 
consciousness  of  their  significance.  The  food  impulse;  follow- 
ing light  with  eyes;  handling;  reaching;  locomotion;  the  talk- 
ing impulse.  All  activity  is  impulsive  so  far  as  containing 
new  elements — so  far,  that  is,  as  it  is  not  purely  habitual. 
Impulse  is  not  used  as  synonymous  with  instinct.  The  latter 
is  a  defined  or  limited  impulse;  the  physical  mechanism  for 
the  act  is  pretty  definitely  prearranged.  In  man,  there  are 
very  few  instincts  pure  and  simple,  but  rather  the  loose  begin- 
nings and  ends  of  very  many  instincts.  Hence  the  range  and 
variety  of  human,  as  compared  with  animal,  actions.  Hence 
also  the  impossibility  of  a  systematic  classification  of  funda- 
mental impulses  to  action.  (  Such  classifications  were  frequent 
in  the  older  psychologies:  see  also  Hartineau,  Types  of  Eth- 
ical Theory,  Vol.  II,  pp.  120-256,  esp.  p.  246).  While  the 
acts  which  have  proved  themselves  necessary  in  the  previous 
life  of  the  race  have  become  so  organized  into  the  structure  of 
the  individual  that  they  now  assert  themselves  spontaneously 
as  appetites  and  aversions,  each  of  these  is  so  modified  by  the 
experiences  and  circumstances  of  the  agent  that  it  is  meaning- 
less when  separated.  Such  impulses  as  love  of  gain,  love  of 
fame,  etc.,  are  either  pure  abstractions,  there  being  in  the  nor- 
mal man  no  such  thing  as  love  of  gain  in  general,  (that  is, 
unmodified  by  the  make-up  of  his  entire  experience)  or  else 
they  represent  an  abstract  classification  of  the  various  ends  to 
which  impulses  may  be  directed. 


—  14  — 

SECTION  X. — THE  EXPRESSION  OF  IMPULSE  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES. 

The  various  impulses  of  the  individual  are  not  a  loose 
bundle  of  tendencies  existing  side  by  side.  Because  they  have 
been  evolved  in  relation  to  the  one  more  inclusive  activity  of 
maintaining  life,  they  are  interconnected.  One  impulse  in  its 
,  utterance  tends  to  call  up  others,  and  this  excitation  or  stimu- 
lation is  not  wholly  dependent  upon  the  circumstances  of  the 
moment,  but  follows  (within  widely  variable  limits)  certain 
lines.  Thus  the  movement  of  the  eye  in  following  light 
and  of  the  hand  in  grasping  an  object  tend  to  co-ordinate, 
etc.  The  difference  again  between  the  lower  animals  and  man 
is  that  in  the  former  this  co-ordination  is  predetermined  quite 
specifically,  while  in  man  only  the  very  general  lines  are  laid 
down,  thus  leaving  room  for  great  variation  and  experimenta- 
tion— implying  possibility  of  new  combinations,  and  thus  the 
performance  of  new  acts  almost  without  limit.  The  acts, 
which  to  the  animals  are  well  defined  ends,  are,  in  the  human 
structure,  freed  from  their  adjustment  to  predefined  ends  and 
made  flexible  instruments  for  a  large  number  of  different  and 
much  more  complex  ends.  The  definite  co  ordination  of  acts 
is  thus,  with  man,  not  a  datum  but  a  problem. 

Each  impulse  in  its  expression  tends  to  call  up  other 
impulses;  and  it  brings  into  consciousness  other  experiences. 
A  child  puts  forth,  by  natural  impulse,  his  hand  towards  a 
bright  color;  his  hand  touches  it  and  he  gets  new  experiences 
—feelings  of  contact;  these,  in  turn,  are  stimulus  to  a  further 
act;  he  puts  the  thing  in  his  mouth,  and  gets  a  taste,  etc.  In 
other  words,  the  expression  of  every  impulse  stimulates  other 
experiences  and  these  react  into  the  original  impulse  and 
modify  it  This  reaction  of  the  induced  experiences  into  the 
inducing  impulse  is  the  psychological  basis  of  moral  conduct 
In  the  animals,  so  far  as  we  can  judge,  the  stimulus  and  the 
response  seem  to  assume  purely  serial  order,  one  impulse 
calling  forth  its  appropriate  act,  this  its  proper  sequence  and 
.so  on.  The  later  acts  or  experiences  do  not  return  into  the 


—  15  — 


earlier;  they  are  not  referred  or  reflected  back.     The  animal 
life  is  one  of  association,  not  of  thought  or  reflection. 

SECTION  XI. — WILL,  OK  THE  MEDIATION  OF  IMPULSE. 

This  back-reference  of  an  experience  to  the  impulse  which  I 
induces  it,  we  may  term  the  mediation  of  impulse.  If  we  * 
suppose  that  the  series  of  experiences  used  in  the  previous 
illustration  give  the  experience  of  an  orange,  then  the  next 
time  the  same  impulse  of  following  light  occurs  it  is  modi- 
fied by  all  the  experiences  in  which  it  previously  resulted. 
It  is  qualitatively  different;  the  image  or  idea  of  the  pleasant 
contacts  and  tastes  is  now  a  part  of  the  impulse.  A  child  fol- 
lows a  purely  natural  impulse  in  making  more  or  less  articu- 
late sounds;  these  sounds,  through  the  response  which  others 
make  to  them  (a  response  as  natural  as  the  sequence  of  con- 
tacts upon  the  following  of  light  with  the  eye)  set  up  other 
experiences  of  the  child,  and  these  induced  experiences  mediate 
the  original  babbling  impulses.  He  finds  that,  expressing  one 
impulse,  he  gets  attention  when  he  falls  down;  by  another, 
food  when  he  is  hungry,  etc.  It  is  not  simply  that  these 
results  do  follow,  but  that  the  child  becomes  conscious 
that  they  follow;  that  is,  the  results  are  referred  back  to  the 
original  impulse  and  enter  into  its  structure  in  consciousness. 
It  is  evident  that  these  mediations,  or  conscious  back- refer-  v 
ences,  constitute  the  meaning  of  the  impulse — they  are  its 
significance,  its  import.  The  impulse  is  idealized.  The  im- 
pulse mediated,  that  is  given  conscious  value  through  the 
reference  into  it  of  the  other  experiences  which  will  result 
from  its  expression,  constitutes  volition  proper. 

SECTION  XII. — THE  ETHICAL  INTERPRETATION  OF  THIS  PROCESS. 

As  the  primary  point  to  understand,  in  ethical  psychology, 
is  the  return  of  induced  experiences  into  the  stimulating 
impulse,  so  the  fundamental  fallacy  to  avoid]is  ihe*separation 
of  impulse  and  induced  experiences.  It  is  too  ^common  an 
error  to  think  of  the  expression  of  the  impulse  as  an  inde- 


—  16  — 

pendent  act  and  of  the  induced  experiences  as  simply  cer- 
tain external  consequences  which  follow  upon  the  act,  but 
which  have  nothing  intrinsically  to  do  with  it — which  in  them- 
selves are  indifferent  to  the  act.  (See  Martineau,  Types,  Vol. 
II,  p.  24).  So  we  hear  of  the  act  and  its  consequences.  In 
fact,  the  consequences,  so  far  as  they  refer  back,  are  the  act  as  a 
moral  or  conscious  (not  simply  physical)  act.  Differences  of  moral 
value  (as  we  shall  see  later)  depend  simply  upon  the  range 
and  thoroughness  of  this  mediation — the  completeness  with 
which  the  "consequences"  of  an  act  are  returned  into  the 
structure  of  the  natural  impulse.  "We  thus  see  again  the 
mistake  of  the  systems  which  attempt — like  Marti  neau's — to 
build  up  ethical  theory  on  the  basis  of  separate  natural  im- 
pulses. Their  moral  value  is  in  their  interactions,  not  in 
themselves  as  independent.  (Bentham,  Principles  of  Morals 
and  Legislation,  Vol.  I  of  Works,  pp.  49-55,  brings  out  this 
truth  very  clearly;  he  uses,  however,  the  term  'motive'  to 
denote  what  I  call  natural  impulse,  while  I  shall  use  the  term 
motive  to  designate  the  mediated  impulse). 

The  mediation  of  the  impulse  through  the  experiences  it 
excites,  may  be  comparatively  organic  or  comparatively  exter- 
nal. That  is,  some  'results'  are  almost  entirely  conditioned 
upon  the  relation  of  the  impulse  expressed  to  other  organs  of 
action — as  satisfaction  from  food  when  hungry,  burning  hand 
from  putting  it  in  fire,  etc.,  while  others  are  due  more  to  cir- 
cumstances which  accompany  the  act  at  the  time,  but  which 
may  be  absent  as  a  rule — as  poison  may  be  found  in  a  food 
usually  healthy.  But  this  distinction  is  not  rigid  (that  is, 
theji  are  no  'results'  absolutely  internal  and  none  absolutely 
external  to  the  act)  and  does  not  afford  a  natural  basis  for 
separation  of  acts  into  those  truly  moral,  and  those  morally 
indifferent.  A  large  part  of  our  moral  discipline  consists  pre- 
cisely in  learning  how  to  estimate  probabilities — to  distinguish 
between  relatively  necessary  and  relatively  accidental  results 
and  to  mediate  the  impulse  accordingly. 


—  17- 

Psychologically,  the  mediation  of  inapulse  (a)  idealizes  the 
impulse,  gives  it  its  value,  its  significance  or  place  in  the  whole 
system  of  action,  and  (b)  controls,  or  directs  it.  The  funda- 
mental ethical  categories  result  from  this  distinction.  The 
worth  of  an  impulse  is,  psychologically,  the  whole  set  of  expe- 
riences which,  presumably,  (that  is,  upon  the  best  judgment 
available)  it  will  call  into  being.  This,  ethically,  constitutes 
the  goodness  (or  badness)  of  the  impulse — the  satisfaction  (or 
dissatisfaction)  which  it  carries.  But  the  thought  of  the  con- 
sequences which  will  follow,  their  conscious  return  back  into 
the  impulse,  modify  it — check  it,  increase  it,  alter  it.  The 
impulse  to  reach,  otherwise  immediately  expressed,  is  arrested 
by  the  nascent  consciousness  of  the  pain  of  the  burn,  it  is  rein- 
forced by  the  nascent  consciousness  of  the  satisfaction  of  food; 
the  impulse  to  see  is  profoundly  modified  by  the  response  of 
other  experiences  when  the  child  learns  to  read,  etc.  In  this 
modification,  through  reaction  of  anticipated  experiences,  we 
have  the  basis  of  what,  ethically,  we  term  obligation — the 
necessity  of  modifying  any  particular  expression  of  impulse  by 
the  whole  system  of  which  it  is  one  part. 

Thus  we  have,  on  one  side,  the  moral  categories  of 
Satisfaction,  Good  (Summum  bonum)  Value,  and,  on  the," 
other,  those  of  Duty,  Law,  Control,  Standard,  etc.  Every 
concrete  act,  unites,  of  course,  the  two  phases;  in  its  complete 
character,  as  affording  satisfaction  and,  at  the  same  time,  ful- 
filling its  organic  interactions,  it  is  right  and  the  agent  which 
it  expresses  is  free.  Thus  we  have  three  main  sets  of  ethical 
ideas:  those  centering,  respectively,  about  (a)  the  Value,  (b) 
the  Control,  (c)  the  Freedom  of  conduct. 

CHAPTER  IV.— THE  MORAL  CONSCIOUSNESS. 
SECTION  XIII. — THE  SUBJECT  OF  THE  MOBAL  JUDGMENT. 

What  is  the  subject,  and  what  the  predicate  of  the  moral 
judgment  ?  That  is,  to  what  do  we  attach  the  ideas  of  good, 
bad,  right,  wrong,  etc.,  and  what  is  the  meaning  of  these  pre- 


—  18  — 

dicates  when  attached?  We  begin  by  asking  what  it  is  that 
has  moral  meaning;  what  conditions  must  be  met  in  order 
that  ethical  notions  may  be  applied  to  any  experience  ?  We 
may  sum  up  what  we  have  already  learned  as  follows :  only  an 
act  (and  a  conscious  act)  has  moral  significance;  every  con- 
scious act,  in  its  lowest  terms,  is  a  mediated  impulse — "  media- 
tion" being  the  reference  back  to  an  impulse  of  the  expe- 
riences which  it  is  likely  to  occasion.  In  this  process,  as  we 
•have  seen,  the  consequences  of  the  impulse  cease  to  be  mere 
§  external  results  and  come  to  form  the  content  of  the  act. 

We  may  recognize  three  degrees  of  completeness  of  this 
mediation.  In  the  most  complete  reaction,  the  original  or 
natural  impulse  is  completely  transformed;  it  no  longer  exists 
in  its  first  condition;  our  impulse  to  locomotion,  for  example' 
is  entirely  made  over  when  the  reaction  of  other  experiences 
jnto  it  is  completed — when  we  learn  to  walk;  the  first  babbling 
impulse  is  wholly  transformed  when  we  learn  to  talk,  etc. 
This  also  means'  that  the  mediating  experiences  are  completely 
absorbed  into  the  initiating  impulse;  the  two  sides,  the  imme- 
diate and  the  mediate,  no  longer  have  any  separate  existence. 
This  complete  reaction  we  call  habit.  When,  the  reaction  is 
less  organized  into  the  impulse,  and  yet  is  closely  connected 
with  it,  we  have  general  lines  or  plans  of  action;  the  larger, 
more  continuous  and  permanent  expectations  which  form  the 
framework,  as  it  were,  of  our  conduct — one's  occupation,  the 
daily  round  of  acts  which,  without  being  fixed  habits,  yet  form 
the  limits  within  which  one's  other  acts  fall.  And  finally,  we 
have  the  particular  variable  acts,  where  the  experiences  which 
express  an  impulse  are  so  numerous  and  complex  as  to  be 
uncertain.  In  this  case,  the  "consequences"  do  not  organic- 
ally react  of  themselves,  but  we  have  to  "  think  it  over  "  and 
calculate  as  best  we  may  the  probable  meaning  of  an  act. 

If  acts  all  came  under  the  first  principle,  we  should  be 
slaves  of  routine;  if  they  all  came  under  the  last,  our  whole 
time  would  be  taken  up  with  minute  and  anxious  reflection 


—  19  — 

and  our  deeds  would  have  no  effectiveness.  As  it  is,  habits 
are  the  tools  which  put  at  our  immediate  disposal  the  results 
of  our  former  experiences,  thus  economizing  force ;  our  general 
plans  hold  us  within  certain  limits  and  thus  keep  us  from  being 
at  the  mercy  of  caprice  or  the  flux  of  circumstance;  while  the 
play  of  the  relatively  uncertain  elements  keeps  our  life  from 
petrifying  and  forms  an  unceasing  call  to  the  exercise  of  the 
best  forethought  at  command.  "Probability  is  the  guide 
of  life."  It  is  the  tension  between  the  habitual  and  the  more 
variable  factors  that  constitutes  the  significance  of  our  conduct 
morally.  Habits,  second  nature,  give  us  consisten3y  and  force; 
the  reflective  element  keeps  us  thoughtful.  All  of  the  ten- 
dencies to  action,  taken  together,  constitute  "capacity" — Lhe 
power  of  action,  whether  impulsive,  or  habitual,  or  reflective, 
which  an  agent  has  at  disposal. 

^ 

If  the  view  so  far  presented  be  correct,  we  may  asertjf 
that  either  conduct  or  character  iS  the  subject  to  which  we 
attach  moral  predicates.  The  terms  "character"  and  "con- 
duct" do  not  refer  to  different  subjects,  but  to  slightly  differ- 
ent aspects  of  the  same  subject.  We  say  character  when  we 
are  thinking  of  the  mediated  impulses  as  the  source  from 
which  all  particular  acts  issue.  It  does  not  refer  to  the  bald 
unmediated  impulses,  nor  does  it  refer  to  fixed  unchangeable 
habits.  It  designates  the  way  in  which  impulses  (varying 
of  course,  in  every  person)  are  directed  and  controlled — that 
is,  mediated.  The  impulses  are  still  there,  and  just  so  far  as, 
in  their  expression,  they  give  rise  to  new  experiences,  charac- 
ter is  modified.  There  is  accordingly  no  force  in  the  objection 
sometimes  made,  that  to  make  character  the  subject  to  which 
the  adjectives,  good  and  bad,  apply,  does  not  allow  freedom  or 
the  possibility  of  change.  The  reaction  of  the  experiences, 
which  the  expression  of  character  effects,  is  sufficient  ground 
for  change.  Nor  is  there  more  force  in  the  objection  that  to 
make  character  the  subject  of  moral  predication  is  to  afford  an 
excuse  for  acts  which  are  bad  on  the  ground  of  the  "good" 


—  20  — 

feeling  or  disposition  from  which  they  proceeded.  Character 
includes  the  style  and  nature  of  the  ends,  the  objects  by  which 
the  individual  mediates  his  impulses,  and  thus  affords  suffi- 
cient basis  for  taking  into  account  the  objective  results  of  acts. 
We  cannot  excuse,  for  example,  an  act  of  unregulated  benevo- 
lence on  the  ground  that  it  proceeds  from  a  good  heart  or 
good  feeling,  when  we  judge  on  the  basis  of  character,  any 
more  than  when  we  judge  on  the  basis  of  the  results  of  the 
act.  On  the  contrary  we  are  only  enabled  the  better  to  locate 
the  defect;  the  person's  character  is  such  that  he  does  not 
properly  mediate  his  impulses ;  he  is  defective  on  the  reflective 
side;  or,  again,  the  nature  of  the  end  which  that  character 
sets  up — the  following  of  the  immediate  impulse  of  the  moment 
— is  not  such  as  to  be  an  object  of  approval. 

On  the  other  hand,  by  conduct  we  do  not  mean  a  mere 
aggregate  of  particular  acts.  Conduct  is  the  expression  of  the 
mediated  impulses.  Character,  according  to  its  definition  (the 
way  of  mediating  impulses),  has  no  reality  apart  from  the  acts 
in  which  such  impulses  must  sooner  or  later  issue.  It  is 
because  acts  proceed  from  character  that  they  are  not  a  mere 
series  of  separate  things,  one  after  another,  but  form  the 
organized  whole:  conduct.  In  a  word,  character  is  the  unity, 
the  spirit,  the  idea  of  conduct,  while  conduct  is  the  reality,  the 
realized  or  objective  expression  of  character.  The  objection 
sometimes  made  to  taking  conduct  as  the  subject  of  the  moral 
judgment,  that  conduct  is  something  outward  and  therefore 
indifferent,  thus  has  no  place.  As  character  is  a  way  of  act- 
ing, conduct  is  the  executed  way. 

We  can  now  deal  shortly  with  a  pair  of  antitheses  which 
are  sometimes  set  up  as  the  proper  object  of  moral  judgment, 
viz. :  motive  on  one  side,  consequences  on  the  other.  Motive 
is  only  character  in  a  given  instance.  Motive  is  never  a  bare 
natural  impulse,  but  is  impulse  in  the  light  of  the  conse- 
quences which  may  reasonably  be  supposed  to  result  from  act- 
ing upon  it.  A  mere  impulse  to  anger  is  not  a  motive,  and  in 


—  21  — 

itself  is  neither  good,  nor  bad.  It  becomes  good  or  bad 
according  to  the  nature  of  the  end  to  which  it  is  attached. 
Consequences,  on  the  other  hand,  are  no  more  a  part  of  con- 
duct than  they  are  of  character,  save  as  they  are  foreseen; 
save,  that  is,  as  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  they  will  follow 
a  given  impulse.  But,  if  there  is  such  reason,  the  conse- 
quences become  a  part  of  the  conditions  which  enter  into  the 
mediation  of  impulse — a  part  of  character. 

For  theories  denying  the  necessity  of  mediation  by  conse- 
quences see  reference  previously  made  to  Martineau,  and 
Kant,  Theory  of  Ethics,  (translated  by  Abbotts),  p.  28,  44-46, 
107—114,  123.  For  theories  holding  to  consequences  see  Ben- 
tham,  Principles  of  Morals,  and  Mill,  Autobiography,  pp.  49— 
50,  and  Utilitarianism,  Ch.  II,  (where,  however,  the  doctrine 
refers  not  to  the  consequences  alone,  but  to  the  exclusion  of 
motive).  For  a  criticism  of  Martineau,  see  Sidgwick,  Meth- 
ods of  Ethics,  Bk.  Ill,  Ch.  12.  For  a  discussion  of  the  sub- 
ject, Muirhead,  Elements,  pp.  55-62,  Mackenzie,  Manual  of 
Ethics,  pp.  40-46,  Alexander,  Moral  Order,  pp.  36-46,  Green, 
Prolegomena,  Bk.  IY,  Ch.  1. 

SECTION  XIV. — THE  PREDICATE  OF  THE  MORAL  JUDGMENT. 

When  shall  we  call  the  character,  or  conduct,  good  or  bad  ? 
An  impulse,  it  must  be  remembered,  is  a  native  or  spontaneous 
way  in  which  the  self  acts.  The  experiences  which  are  re- 
ferred back  to  the  impulse  are  experiences  which  the  self  . 
undergoes  because  of  its  own  nature.  The  mediation  of  the 
impulse  thus  means  a  process  of  self-development.  It  is  the 
process  by  which  the  self  becomes  aware  of  the  meaning,  in 
terms  of  its  own  experiences,  of  one  of  its  own  impulses.  The 
impulse,  by  itself,  or  in  isolation,  is  a  partial  or  abstract  ex- 
pression of  the  self.  The  child  who  reaches  for  a  light  may 
want  the  light,  but  he  does  not  want  the  burn  which  is  none 
the  less  a  part  of  himself,  an  organic  portion  of  his  experience, 
under  the  circumstances.  So  the  child  may  want  to  talk,  but 
he  can  hardly  be  said  to  want  the  introduction  into  new  social 


22 

relations,  and  into  a  world  of  science  and  literature,  which  the 
expression  of  that  impulse  brings  about.  And  yet  all  this  is 
rf  involved  in  the  original  impulse.  The  expression  of  impulse 
I  is  thus  a  process  of  self-realization.  The  first  meaning  of  an 
impulse  of  anger  is  simply  blind  reaction,  but  this  reaction  has 
consequences  (relations  to  others,  habits  established,  etc.), 
which  are,  from  that  time  on,  part  of  the  impulse.  This  ten- 
dency to  act  without  thought,  to  set  up  hostile  relations  to 
others,  is  now  the  meaning  which  the  impulse  has  for  the  self. 
Or  the  blind  reaction  of  anger  is  against  some  meanness;  it 
serves  to  do  away  with  that  meanness  and  to  brace  the  self. 
These  relations  differentiate  the  impulse  and  bring  the  self  to 
consciousness  in  this  direction.  The  completest  possible  inter- 
action of  an  impulse  icith  all  other  experiences,  or  the  com- 
pletest possible  relation  of  an  impulse  to  the  whole  self  consti- 
tutes the  predicate,  or  moral  value,  of  an  act.  The  predicate 
is,  therefore,  identical  in  kind  with  the  subject.*  That  is,  the 
subject,  '  this  act,'  in  the  judgment  '  this  act  is  right,'  is  an 
act  mediated  by  reference  to  the  other  experiences  it  occasions 
—its  effect  upon  the  s.elf.  The  predicate  'is  right'  simply 
traces  out  such  effects  more  completely,  taking  into  account,  so 
far  as  possible,  the  reaction  into  the  future  character  of  the 
self,  and,  in  virtue  of  this  reaction,  judging  the  act. 

The  basis  for  discriminating  between  "right"  and  wrong 
in  the  judgment  is  found  in  the  fact  that  some  acts  tend  to 
narrow  the  self,  to  introduce  friction  into  it,  to  weaken  its 
power,  and  in  various  ways  to  disintegrate  it,  while  other  acts 
tend  to  expand,  invigorate,  harmonize,  and  in  general  organize 
the  self.  The  angry  act,  for  example,  in  the  first  case  given,  is 
bad,  because  it  brings  division,  friction,  weakness  into  the 
self;  in  the  second  case,  "good,"  because  it  unifies  the  self  and 
gives  power. 

*  This  has  important  bearings  upon  the  subject  of  the  criterion  as  we  shall 
ie  hereafter.  Because  the  predicate  and  subject  are  identical  in  principle 
oth  being  the  mediation  of  the  impulse,  the  criterion  always  lies  within,  not 

without,  the  act.    The  criterion  is  nothing  but  the  completest  possible  view 

of  the  act. 


I 


—  23  — 

The  first  effect  of  every  mediation  of  an  impulse  is  to 
•check  or  arrest  that  impulse.  Reflection  means  postponement; 
it  is  delayed  action.  Through  this  delay  the  impulse  is 
brought  into  connection  with  other  impulses,  habits  and  experi- 
ences. Now  if  a  due  balance  is  kept,  the  result  is  that  the 
original  impulse  is  harmonized  with  the  self,  and,  when 
expressed,  it  realizes  not  only  its  own  partial  nature  but  that 
of  the  whole  self;  it  becomes  the  organ  through  which  the 
whole  self  finds  outlet.  The  moral  criterion  for  an  act  pro- 
ceeding from  anger  or  from  benevolence  is  whether  only  a 
part  of  the  self  or  the  whole  character  moves  outward  in  the 
act.  The  bad  act  is  partial,  the  good  organic.  The  good 
man  "eats  to  live,"  that  is,  the  satisfaction  even  of  the  appe- 
tite of  hunger  is  functional  to  the  whole  self  or  life;  if  we  say 
the  man  who  "lives  to  eat''  is  bad,  it  is  because  he  is  sacrific- 
ing much  of  himself  to  one  partial  expression  of  himself. 

We  see  again  the -impossibility  of  classifying  the  impulses 
into  a  hierarchy  of  higher  and  lower.  When  an  act  is  right, 
there  is  no  higher  or  lower  as  to  the  impulse  from  which  it  pro- 
ceeds. The  satisfaction  of  hunger  in  its  place  (that  is,  one 
which  unifies  the  whole  self)  is  as  imperious  in  its  Tightness  as 
the  noblest  act  of  heroism  or  the  sublimest  act  of  self-devotion. 

The  good  man,  in  a  word,  is  his  whole  self  in  each  of  his  \ 
acts;  the  bad  man  is  a  partial  (and  hence  a  different)  self  in    i 
his  conduct.     He  is  not  one  person,  for  he  has  no  unifying   I 
principle.     (Compare    the    expressions   "  dissipated,  gone    to 
pieces,  shaky,  unstable,  lacking  in  integrity,  duplicity,  devious, 
indirect,  snaky,"  etc.) 

This  conception  of  the  organic  mediation  of  an  impulse 
as  equivalent  to  Tightness  may  be  expressed  in  other  ways. 
Aristotle  seems  to  have  meant  this  by  his  principle  of  the 
"golden  mean."  (Aristotle,  Ethics,  Bk.  II.,  chap.  6-9.)  ./> 

^ 

While  he  states  it  as  an  arithmetical  mean,  it  is  easy  to  trans-  i 
late  what  he  says  into  the  conception  of  an  active  balance  in  1 
which  due  regard  is  had  both  to  the  immediate  impulse  and  to 


—  24  — 

the  mediating  consequences;  e.  g.,  courage  as  the  mean 
between  foolhardiness  and  cowardice,  foolbardiness  being 
undue  preponderance  of  impulse,  cowardice  lack  of  proper 
assertion  of  impulse;  moderation  is  the  balance  between 
extravagance  (preponderance  of  immediate  impulse)  and 
miserliness  (preponderance  of  reflection),  and  so  on. 

Alexander  conveys  the  same  idea  by  calling  Tightness  a 
"moving  equilibrium."  (Moral  Order  and  Progress,  pp. 
97-111.) 

The  same  idea  is  also  expressed  in  the  conception  of 
"self-realization,"  provided  this  is  understood  in  the  sense  of 
expressing  the  concrete  capacity  of  an  individual  agent,  and 
not  in  the  sense  of  filling  in  the  blank  scheme  of  some  unde- 
fined, purely  general  self.  (Green,  Prolegomena  to  Ethics, 
178-207;  Mackenzie,  Manual  of  Ethics,  136-38,  and  Bradley, 
Ethical  Studies,  chap.  6,  tend  to  use  the  idea  in  the  latter 
sense.  For  further  criticism  see  Philosophical  Review,  Vol. 
II,  p.  652,  on  Self-Realization  as  Moral  Ideal.) 

CHAPTER  V.— MORAL  APPROBATION,  VALUE  AND 
STANDARD. 

SECTION  XV. — NATUBAL  GOOD. 

/  The  satisfaction  which  any  impulse  affords  in  its  expres- 
l  sion  may  be  termed  its  natural  value.  It  is  equivalent  to 
what  the  economists  term  "  value  in  use  " — value  which  is  di- 
rectly enjoyed,  but  not  measured.  Such  is  the  satisfaction 
which  accompanies  the  fulfillment  of  the  appetite  of  hunger 
or  of  thirst,  in  itself  or  apart  from  any  consideration  of  its 
further  bearings.  But,  as  we  have  seen,  the  expression  of  an 
impulse  is  always  referred  back  to  it,  and  comes  to  constitute 
its  meaning  or  the  content  of  the  act.  Purely  natural  good 
is  found  therefore  only  in  the  original  primitive  satisfactions 
of  early  childhood:  it  is  the  state  of  animal  innocence — the 
state  of  knowing  neither  good  or  evil,  but  simply  enjoyingfsuf- 
feringJgoodjOr  suffering  evil  as  they  come. 


—  25  — 

SECTION  XVI. — MORAL  GOOD. 

The  mediation  of  the  impulse  evidently  prevents  the  im- 
mediate satisfaction  of  the  impulse,  and  thus  replaces  natural 
good  by  a  good  which  is  presented  to  consciousness.  This 
satisfaction  mediated  in  thought,  that  is,  by  reflection  upon  the 
nature  of  an  impulse  in  its  relation  to  the  self  (or  the  whole 
system  of  impulses)  is  moral  satisfaction  or  moral  value. 

This  process  of  reflection  evidently  sets  up  a  standard  or 
criterion  for  the  value  of  the  original  impulse.  It  no  longer 
has  worth  in  itself  but  simply  in  its  relation  to  the  whole  set  of 
desirable  experiences  which  it  will  occasion.  And  this  means, 
of  course,  its  tendency  to  further  the  other  impulses  in  its  in- 
teraction with  them,  or  to  express  the  self.  It  may  be  com- 
pared with  the  measured  or  defined  value  of  the  economists, 
the  measurement  here  also  being  through  interaction  or  rela- 
tion (namely,  exchange)  creating  a  tension  of  various  impulses 
against  each  other,  which  makes  it  necessary  to  estimate  the 
relative  importance  of  each. 

The  mediating  process  evidently  has  two  sides;  there  are 
two  standpoints  from  which  it  may  be  considered,  and  in  terms 
of  which  it  may  be  stated.  As  in  the  operation  of  exchange 
there  is  but  one  reality,  one  process,  and  yet  that  process  will  be 
differently  described  according  as  it  is  the  buyer  or  seller  who 
reports  it,  so  in  measurement  of  moral  value,  or  the  reference 
of  an  impulse  to  the  whole  experience  of  the  self.  The  pro- 
cess of  mediation  or  measurement  is  one,  and  yet  our  mode  of 
stating  it  will  be  different  according  as  we  look  at  it  from  the\ 
standpoint  of  the  inducing  impulse  or  of  the  impulses  and  ex- 1 
periences  induced.  The  process,  as  a  whole,  is  one  of  adjust- 
ment, of  balancing,  of  co-ordination.  But  if  we  identify  our- 
selves in  imagination  with  the  impulse,  we  have  first  the 
checking  of  the  impulse,  and  then,  as  dammed  up,  its  gradual 
transformation  and  reinforcement — the  condition  of  desire  and 
its  struggle  for  fulfillment.  The  impulse,  being  the  thing 
which  makes  itself  directly  felt  in  consciousness,  is  taken  to  be 
reality :  it  is  the  present  factor. 


—  26  — 

But  as  the  other  impulses  stimulated  (redintegrated)  and 
their  results  begin  to  be  present  in  consciousness,  we  may 
identify  ourselves  with  them  and  tell  the  story  from  their  side. 
As  induced  and  derivative,  not  immediately  present  (present 
only  as  results  of  the  original  impulse),  they  are  ideas;  yet,  as 
induced,  their  reflective  character  is  not  equivalent  to  unreal- 
ity; they  make  themselves  felt  by  checking  the  very  impulse 
which  aroused  them.  In  this  aspect,  they  are  the  law,  the 
controlling  power  of  that  impulse.  They  determine  in  what 
form,  under  what  conditions  of  time,  place,  and  quality,  i^may 
be  satisfied.  Thus  they  determine  or  measure  its  value;  they 
say  to  it:  You  are  not  what  you  are  alone  or  in  yourself,  but 
your  value  is  what  it  is  in  relation  to  us.  In  this  aspect,  the 
induced  experiences  (reason,  for  short)  are  the  standard  of 
measurement  for  the  natural  impulse. 

But  the  experiences  thus  reflectively  brought  forward^while 
they  may  transform  the  original  impulse,  "^^yf  also  reinforce 
it.  They  have  their  own  impulsive  quality,  or  urging  for  ex- 
pression. Thus  they  constitute  the  ideal;  what  is  desired; 
the  reflective  good.  The  gradual  self-assertion  of  desire  up  to 
choice  or  preference,  and  the  gradual  formation  of  an  ideal  up 
to  resolution  or  decision,  are  one  and  the  same  process  of 
mediation  of  impulse  described  from  the  two  standpoints,  un- 
til they  gradually  merge  in  a  complete  unity — the  overt  act. 
The  whole  process  is  one  of  discovering  and  applying  the  cri- 
terion, a  process  of  estimating  value.  In  other  words,  it  is  a 
process  of  testing,  of  proving,  until,  in  the  act,  there  is  ap- 
probation. 

SECTION  XVII. — DEVELOPMENT  OF  VOLITION  FROM  SIDE  OF  IDEA. 
We  begin  with  a  consideration  of  the  process  by  which  the 
«nd  becomes  developed  into  an  act.  This  end  is  at  first  intel- 
lectual— that  is,  it  exists  in  thought  only.  It  is  a  proposed 
end,  not  an  actualized  one.  It  is  an  aim,  a  plan,  an  intention, 
a  purpose — all  terms  expressing  its  unrealized  condition.  In 
its  own  content  it  does  not  differ  from  any  image  which  may 


—  27  — 

come  before  the  mind.  Its  relation  to  the  impulse  which  calls 
it  into  being  tends,  however,  to  unite  its  destiny  with  that  of 
the  impulse,  and  thus  confer  upon  it  a  practical  value.  Con- 
sider a  person  who  has  an  artistic  impulse — one  towards  paint- 
ing. This  impulse  cannot  find  its  immediate  expression;  it 
calls  before  the  mind  (by  association  or  redintegration)  images 
of  all  circumstances  which  are  relevant  to  it — which  seem  to  be 
involved  in  its  execution.  According  to  the  strength  (the 
insistence  and  persistence)  of  the  original  impulse,  the  ideas 
thus  aroused  will  be  mere  fleeting  fancies,  vague  schemes  to  be 
carried  out  if  circumstances  favor,  or  a  defined  (determined) 
project.  In  abnormal  cases,  hypnotism,  "  compulsory  ideas," 
etc.,  we  find  that  every  idea  suggested  to  the  mind  tends  to 
execute  itself,  or  that  some  idea  becomes  so  dominant  that 
there  is  no  co-ordination  between  it  and  others  and  hence  no 
control.  These  abnormal  cases  reveal  the  normal  principle, 
covered  up  by  complexity  of  ordinary  life — the  connection  of 
every  idea  with  an  impulse.  In  childhood  we  see  precisely  the 
same  thing,  save  that  here  the  idea  is  hardly  distinguished  in 
consciousness  from  the  impulse.  Attention  reveals  the  same 
principle  in  its  normal  and  matured  form.  Attention  is  an 
idea  or  set  of  ideas  so  completely  bound  up  with  an  impulse 
that  they  demand  realization.  The  sole  difference  from  the 
abnormal  "compulsory  idea"  is  that  in  attention  the  induced 
ideas  are  organically  connected  with  the  impulse.  That  is  to 
say,  the  distinguishing  trait  of  attention  is  that  it  arouses  the 
whole  set  of  ideas  which  are  relevant  to  the  impulse,  and  only 
those,  other  ideas  as  they  arise  dying  out  because  of  their 
indifference  to  the  realization  of  the  impulse,  while  all  relevant 
suggestions  are  maintained. 

The  full  development  of  an  ideal,  an  end,  is,  then,  the  same 
thing  on  the  ethical  side  that  we  term  reflective  attention  on 
the  psychological  side — just  as  the  direct  satisfaction  of  an 
impulse  is  equivalent  to  non- voluntary,  or  direct,  attention. 
(See  Dewey,  Psychology,  pp.  121-29,  on  natural  and  acquired 
value;  James,  Psy.,  vol.  1,  pp.  416-24,  on  passive  and  volun- 


—  28  — 

tary  attention.)  Interest  is,  by  general  confession,  bound  up 
with  attention;  we  may,  therefore,  expect  to  find  a  similar 
close  connection  between  ideal  and  interest  in  the  process  of 
volition. 

In  the  discussion  of  this  development,  it  is  convenient  to 
consider  separately  two  phases  which  are  always,  as  matters  of 
fact,  found  together.  One  of  these  is  the  formation  of  the 
intellectual  content,  the  end  (what  is  aimed  at,  the  rational 
structure  of  the  plan);  the  other,  the  connection  of  this  intel- 
lectual content  with  the  impulse — the  interest  or  practical 
value  which  attaches  to  the  aim  as  thought.  Before  consider- 
ing them  separately,  it  must  again  be  remarked  that  while  the 
content  of  the  plan  is  purely  intellectual  or  rational  (abstract, 
or  objective  to  the  self),  the  fact  that  it  is  found  worth  while  to 
develop  the  plan  (that  attention  remains  fixed)  shows  that  this 
rational  content  is  not,  for  a  moment,  freed  from  its  practical 
or  dynamic  value — its  connection  with  impulse  as  the  immedi- 
ately acting  self. 

SECTION  XVIII. — DEVELOPMENT  or  INTENTION  OB  THE  RATIONAL 
CONTENT. 

An  intention  is  what  an  agent  means  to  do.  It  is  thus  the 
primary  differentia  of  a  volitional  from  a  purely  impulsive  act, 
showing  that  the  impulse  is  mediated.  It  constitutes  reflection, 
or  the  control  of  the  impulse  by  reason.  The  thought,  or 
what  one  intends,  may  be  a  mere  image  which  passes  listlessly 
through  the  mind — as  in  the  state  of  building  castles  in  the 
air;  it  may  be  a  vague  undefined  thought  of  something  or 
other  in  general — a  sentiment,  what  is  sometimes  termed 
"meaning  well"  or  having  "good  intentions,"  and  yet  not 
meaning  the  particular  end  which  alone  is  right.  When 
ethically  justifiable,  it  signifies  giving  attention  to  all  the 
bearings  which  could  be  foreseen  by  an  agent  who  had  a 
proper  interest  in  knowing  wh$t  he  is  about. 

So  far,  we  have  unduly  simplified  the  account  by  ignoring 
the  conflict  of  aims  or  the  difficulty  of  coming  to  a  conclu- 


\rcCl 


—  29- 

sion  in   many   cases.     The    natural   satisfaction,    that  is,  the\^a 
thought  of  the  course  which  the  original  impulse  would  take  if  I 
left  to  itself,  and  the  rational,  or  mediated,  satisfaction  con-  /  * 
tend  in  the  mind.     This  is,  as  we  shall  see,  the  basis  of  the 4 
moral  struggle,  the  conflict  of  desire  and  duty.     Or,  the  various  * 
suggested  ends  do  not  harmonize;  it  is  necessary  either  to  bar  •- 
out  some,  or. else  to  discover  a  still  more  comprehensive  aim  in 
which  the  claims  of  the  conflicting  intentions  shall  be  adjusted.  ~ 
Thus  we  are  brought   to   deliberation,    the    more    conscious  I 
weighing  and  balancing  of  values — consideration.     We  are  apt  I 
to  describe  this  process  as  if  it  were  a  coldly  intellectual  one. 
As  matter  of  fact,  it  is  a  process  of  tentative  action;  we  "try 
on "  one  or  other  of  the  ends,  imagining  ourselves  actually 
doing  them,  going,  indeed,  in  this  make-believe  action  just  as 
far  as  we  can  without  actually  doing  them.     In  fact,  we  often 
find  ourselves   carried  over  the  line  here;  the  hold  which  a 
given  impulse  gets  upon  us  while  we  are  "trying  it  on"  passes 
into   overt   act  without   our   having  consciously  intended  it. 
Particularly  is  this  the  case  so  far  as  our  character  is  imma- 
ture; there  is  a  temporary  relapse  into  a  "compulsory  idea." 
Decision,    resolution,    the   definitely  formed   plan,  is   the 
proper  outcome  of  consideration.     This  expresses  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  process  of  conflict  among  ends,  and  the  emergence  , 
of  a  purpose  which ,  whether  through  suppression  or  compre-  I 
hension  of  other  ends,  now  expresses  the  self.     It  is  the  com-  I 
pleted  self  under  the  given  circumstances^     The  appearance  of  * 
an  ideal  in  the  mind  and  the  final  selection,  or  determination,  I 
are  simply  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  one  and  the  same  pro- 
cess— there  is  no  thrusting  in  of  an  outside  power,  of  will  or 
attention.     The  process  we  are  describing  is  the  process  of 
will  or  attention.     This  brings  us  expressly  to  a  statement  of 
the  connection  of  the  intention  or  aim  with  the  self  urging  on 
to  action — impulse. 

SECTION  XIX. — DEVELOPMENT  OF  MOTIVE. 

The  reaction  of  the  intended  content  into  impulse  renders! 


I 


—  30  — 

the  former  itself  an  impulse;  the  original  impulse,  now 
enlarged,  goes  on  to  express  itself.  This  identification  of  the 
aim  with  impulse  is  motive,  the  rational  spring  to  action. 

As  attention  cannot  be  separated  from  interest,  the  forma- 
tion of  a  plan  cannot  be  separated  from  the  reaction  of  that 
plan  into  the  self.  Every  end  that  occurs  to  the  mind  awakens 
a  certain  amount  of  interest,  or  has  a  certain  value  attached 
to  it.  It  is  this  reaction,  the  extent  to  which  the  thought  tends 
to  stir  the  self,  to  call  it  out,  that  measures  the  motive  power 
of  the  thought.  Abstractly  we  may  distinguish  between  the 
conception  of  the  end,  which  is  rational  or  reflective,  and  the 
motive  power  of  this  end;  actually,  we  cannot.  Whether  or 
not  the  conceived  end  remains  in  consciousness,  even  as  a  con- 
ception, expresses  its  value  to  the  self.  This  identity  of  the 
•evolution  of  the  ideal,  on  the  intellectual  side,  with  the  evolu- 
tion of  a  determining  motive  power,  on  the  emotional,  both 
being  forms  of  self-expression,  is  the  key  to  an  understanding 
of  the  ethics  of  motive.  The  ideal,  or  end,  is  the  abstract, 
objective  expression,  of  the  self;  the  acting,  or  real,  self  tem- 
porarily checked  as  to  its  overt  expression  (immediate  activ- 
ity) but  deepened  and  widened  in  its  consciousness  of  what  it  is 
doing — in  its  appreciation  of  value.  The  motive  is  this  abstract 
self  completely  related,  having  its  value  felt,  and  thus  no  longer 
merely  objective  but  subjective  as  well,  and  hence  passing  into 
Act.  (See  Dewey,  Psy.,  pp.  15-23,  and  p.  347). 

If  we  take  the  reaction  of  the  content  into  the  other  im- 
pulses of  the  self,  and  consider  it  apart  from  the  reason  or 
purpose  of  the  act,  we  get  the  conflict  of  emotions — the  stress 
and  strain  of  feelings,  the  play  of  hope  and  fear,  of  doubt  and 
•expectation,  of  suspense  and  adjustment,  of  tension  and  grow- 
ing ease,  which  is  the  subjective  counterpart  of  the  objective 
•conflict  and  resolution  of  ideals  already  spoken  of.  (See 
Dewey,  Psychology,  XII.  The  " formal  feelings"  there  de- 
scribed are  the  consciousness  of  the  process  of  mediation  oJ 
impulse,  apart  from  its  content).  One  of  these  emotions  is  sc 


—  31  — 

important  that  it  is  often  identified  with  volition  itself;  it 
therefore  demands  special  attention.  It  is  the  consciousness 
of  effort.  Effort  is  the  same  process,  stated  in  terms  of  emo- 
tion, that  we  call  consideration,  or  reflection,  when  stated  in 
terms  of  rational  content.  It  is  the  feeling  of  the  division  of  ^ 
activity — a  necessary  accompaniment  of  the  period  of  suspense  v 
within  which  the  original  activity  is  arrested,  while  the  induced  Y 
impulses  which  arrest  have  not  yet  gained  sufficient  force  to  y 
determine  the  act.  It  is  a  period  when  the  impulses  are  striv- 
ing towards  co-ordination  and  yet,  not  having  reached  it,  are 
in  tension  against  each  other — temporarily  oppose  each  other. 
Such  temporary  opposition  is  evidently  necessary  in  order  to 
secure  a  balance  which  will  utilize  each  set  to  the  full,  or 
secure  the  maximum  of  energy.  It  is  obvious  that  if  the  op- 
position of  one  set  to  the  other  is  imperfect,  one  or  the  other 
will  get  the  preponderance  too  soon.  The  result  will  be  an 
undue  suppression  of  the  other  set,  loss  of  efficiency  and  ulti- 
mate friction.  This  conflict  of  impulses  which  oppose  each 
other  in  order  to  reinforce  each  other  is  reported  in  conscious- 
ness as  the  feeling  of  effort,  whose  distinguishing  trait  is  pre- 
cisely a  peculiar  combination  of  feelings  of  power  and  impo- 
tence, of  activity  and  resistance  to  activity. 

SECTION  XX. — NATURE  OF  EFFORT  OR  TENSION. 

According  to  this  statement,  effort  is  simply  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  critical  moment  in  the  development  pf  will;  it  is 
not  to  be  identified  with  the  putting  forth  of  will  itself.  And 
yet  effort  is  often  considered  to  be  will  asserting  its  own  power 
against  some  resistance  outside  of  itself.  What  is  the  origin 
of  this  fallacy?  What  are  its  ethical  consequences? 

According  to  the  theory  given  in  the  text,  neither  oneAor  the 
other  of  the  contending  forces  is  to  be  identified  by  itself  with 
will;  each  represents  a  normal  and  a  necessary  phase  of  will— the 
mediate  and  the  immediate,  the  original  aud  the  induced,  to 
repeat  once  more.  Moreover  their  temporary  separation  and 
the  resistance  which  one  phase  of  the  activity  offers  to  the 


—  32  — 

other  is  itself  a  factor  of  great  positive  importance  in  the  evo- 
lution of  a  truly  rational  practical  conclusion,  or  act.  Now,  if 
will  proper  is  not  this  whole  process,  but  is  some  one  distinct 
power,  some  force  standing  outside  the  other  factors,  if  there- 
fore these  other  factors  are  resistance  not  in  will,  but  to  it, 
both  our  psychological  statement,  and  our  ethical  theory  must 
be  radically  changed. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  detect  the  source  of  the  error.  We 
necessarily  tend,  during  the  struggle,  to  identify  ourselves 
especially  with  that  phase  of  the  process  which  is  prominent  in 
consciousness,  and  to  regard  the  other  phase  (  although  equally 
an  expression  of  ourselves)  as  indifferent  or  even  as  hostile  to 
ourselves.  The  more  interesting,  the  more  important,  is,  for 
the  time  being,  the  self;  it  absorbs  consciousness.  Then  we 
fail  to  notice  that  the  final  act,  the  complete  expression  of  self, 
is  by  no  means  this  side  alone,  but  is  colored  throughout,  and 
is  given  value,  by  the  other  phase  of  the  self.  Take  a  poor 
person  tempted  to  steal;  suppose  he  has  habits,  of  honesty. 
Here  the  self  is  identified  with  the  thoughts  of  decency,  of 
self-respect,  of  reputation,  which  arise  and  assert  themselves 
against  the  direct  impulse  to  take  the  loaf  of  bread.  The 
mediating  self  is  the  self,  and  the  impulse  is  a  mere  intruder, 
something  outside  the  will,  outside  the  self,  and  yet  somehow 
coming  in  to  tempt  it.  Yet  the  very  fact  that  this  impulse  is 
presented  as  an  end,  that  it  becomes  the  thought  of  stealing, 
shows  that  that  end  also,  so  far  as  entertained,  is  self.  And  if 
the  final  determination  is  not  to  take  the  bread,  this  conclusion, 
the  completed  self,  has  by  no  means  the  significance  which  the 
same  conclusion  (the  same  outwardly)  would  have  when  not 
the  outcome  of  such  a  struggle;  the  self  has  not  simply  re- 
turned to  its  normal  state  after  having  got  rid  of  an  intruder. 
The  impulse  to  steal  has  become  an  integral  part  of  the  final 
act— not,  of  course,  in  its  own  isolated  state,  but  in  its  mediated 
relationship.* 

*  The  bearing  of  this  upon  the  question  of  the  relation  of  good 
and  evil,  and  the  possibility  of  an  absorption  of  evil  into  good 
character,  or  vice-versa  (corruptio  optimi,  pessima),  will  come  up 
later. 


—  33  — 

And  if  the  statement  as  thus  formulated  seems  strange 
stated  in  another  way,  namely,  that  the  meeting  and  overcom- 
ing of  temptation  develops  character,  it  seems  a  mere  com- 
monplace. 

In  other  instances,  the  thought  of  the  original,  natural  im- 
pulse will  seem  the  real  self,  and  the  induced  experiences  the 
invading  force;  as,  for  example,  when  a  man  starts  to  fulfill  a 
natural  office  of  friendliness  and  then  is  checked  by  the 
thought  of  the  unpopularity  of  the  object  as  likely  to  affect 
him  if  he  does  the  act.  In  this  case,  the  very  fact  that  these 
reasons  have  weight  with  the  man,  that  the  thought  of  the 
obloquy  holds  his  mind,  shows  that  that  end  expresses  himself 
— in  its  measure.  And  yet,  the  man  feels  that  his  "  true " 
self  demands  the  negation  of  this  temptation,  and  so  this  end 
is  thought  of  as  external,  and  the  final  conclusion  (which  in 
reality  involves  the  co-operation  of  both  partial  selves)  is  taken 
as  simply  the  victory  of  one  over  the  other.  So  it  may  be  as 
to  the  thing  physically  done,  but  in  meaning,  in  its  moral  (or 
character)  value,  it  involves  both.  The  same  apparent  dual- 
ism is  found  in  any  exhibition  of  attention.  In  one  aspect, 
the  self  as  attending,  the  group  of  impulses  and  habits,  which 
are  endeavoring  to  assert  themselves,  seems  to  be  the  self,  and 
the  content  attended  to,  the  object,  seems  to  be  outside  the 
self.  Yet  the  fact  that  the  content  arouses  such  interest  as  to 
maintain  the  tendency  to  assimilate  the  attending  "subject" 
and  the  "object"  attended  to,  shows  that  the  integrity  of  the 
self,  its  complete  assertion,  is  neither  side  separately  but  the 
co  ordination  of  the  two  phases.  Of  this  co-ordination,  the 
very  struggle,  or  tension,  is  an  integral  phase  necessary  in 
bringing  out  the  full  bearing,  or  importance  of  both  factors. 
Every  one  would  admit  that  we  do  not  get  adequate  conscious- 
ness of  the  object  of  attention  until  attention  has  worked  itself 
out;  it  is  just  as  true  that  the  impulses  and  habits  which  press 
forward  to  the  object  have  their  significance  and  value  brought 
to  consciousness  at  the  same  time. 


—  34  — 

• 

The  fact  that  sometimes  the  self  seems  to  be  inducing 
experience  and  sometimes  the  induced,  shows  the  absurdity  of 
setting  up  a  fixed  will  or  self.  When  the  attraction  is  towards 
the  conceived  end,  that  seems  to  be  self;  when  that  end  repels, 
upon  the  whole,  so  that  the  movement  is  towards  reduction  of 
its  value,  the  self  is  located  in  the  primary  experience.  A 
man's  true  self  in  temperance  is  in  the  induced  experiences; 
in  courage  in  the  inducing,  etc. 

SECTION  XXL     THEORIES  OF  ABSTRACT  IDEALS. 

The  ethical  consequences  of  identifying  will  with  a  power 
which  puts  forth  effort  against  or  towards  something  outside 
of  will  flow  from  the  interruption  thus  abruptly  introduced 
into  the  moral  process. 

The  existence  of  the  ideal  is  rendered  inexplicable.  It  is 
reduced  (A)  to  a  supernatural  visitor  from  a  world  above  that 
of  ordinary  experience.  The  very  word  "ideal''  suggests  to 
a  sophisticated  mind  something  which  is  remote  and  unattain- 
able— outside  of  the  natural  course  of  life.  If  not  defined  as 
introduced  into  the  mind  from  without  by  a  divine  power,  it  is 
thought  of  after  the  analogy  of  this  concept.  See  Martineau, 
Types,  Vol.  II,  pp.  73-74;  97-99;  217-218;  and  Study  of 
Religion,  Vol.  II,  26-40,  for  assertions  of  the  transcendent 
character  of  the  ideal. 

(B)  Recent  moralists  have  seen  the  objections  which  attach 
to  putting  the  origin  and  formation  of  the  ideal  outside  of  the 
self.  Yet  instead  of  showing  the  point,  in  the  normal  process 
of  volition  (the  appearance  of  the  induced  experiences  which 
mediate  the  original  tendency  to  action)  at  which  the  destina- 
tion arises,  they  split  the  self  into  two  selves  and  attribute 
the  impulses  and  appetites  to  one,  the  actual  urgent  self, 
and  the  ideal  to  another  self,  a  "higher"  or  "rational"  or 
"spiritual"  self  in  general. 

( 1 )  Kant  presents  one  type  of  this  view.  According  to 
him,  there  is  a  sensuous,  "phenomenal"  self,  constituted  by 


—  35  — 

% 
appetites  and  impulses;  this  furnishes  the  actual  material  of 

our  volition.  Besides  this,  there  is  a  rational  "noumenal"  self, 
which  sets  up  the  ideal  or  goal  of  effort.  (Theory  of  Ethics, 
trans,  by  Abbott,  pp.  105-124;  144-47). 

(2)  Green  recognizes  the  objection  to  splitting  the  self  so 
completely,  and  falls  back  on  the  notion  of  the  moral  ideal  as 
meaning  the  end  of  the  self  as  a  whole,  while  natural  satisfac- 
tion means  the  satisfaction  of  a  particular  impulse.  This 
might  be  interpreted  in  a  sense  analogous  with  the  theory  I 
have  previously  advanced,  but  as  matter  of  fact,  Green  makes 
the  whole  self  not  the  complete  definition  of  the  natural  im- 
pulse, under  the  conditions,  but  something  quite  distinct  from 
any  possible  development  of  the  particular  impulse  as  such. 
See  Green,  Prolegomena,  pp.  160-62,  178-188,  202-204; 
Works,  Vol.  II,  136-48;  308-309;  329;  336-38.  Compare 
with  the  following  criticisms  my  article  in  Philosophical  Re- 
view, Vol.  I,  No.  6. 

Objections  to  the  absolute  or  separate  ideal  may  be  stated 
as  follows: 

(a)  It  makes  a  dualism,  practically  unbridgeable,  between 
the  moral  and  the  scientific  phases  of  our  experience.  If  any 
account  of  the  ideal  can  be  given  meeting  the  needs  of  the 
case,  we  should  certainly  hesitate  before  accepting  a  mode  of 
statement  introducing  ideas  which  not  only  do  not  lie  within 
the  scope  of  scientific  method  as  usually  presented,  but  which 
emphasize  their  complete  transcendence  of  scientific  categories 
and  results.  All  the  above  theories  (any  theories  which  set  up 
an  independent,  fixed  ideal)  are  necessarily  metaphysical  in  a 
sense  which  separates  metaphysics  from  science,  instead  of 
making  it  a  more  complete  recognition  of  scientific  methods 
and  data. 

That  moral  science  introduces  a  set  of  ideas  which  are  not 
brought  explicitly  to  the  front  in  the  physical  or  even  the  bio- 
logical sciences,  there  can  be  no  doubt.  But  the  account  which 
I  have  given  recognizes  this  distinction  without  changing  it 


—  36  — 

into  a  break.  Physical  science  deals  wholly  with  the  rational, 
abstract  or  objective  content.  That  is,  it  leaves  out  of  account 
(i)  the  fact  that  every  object,  or  law  (relation  of  objects)  arises, 
in  actual  experience  from  an  inducing  impulse,  an  action  of 
self;  (ii)  the  fact  that  sooner  or  later  it  reacts  back  into  the 
impulse,  and  thus  has  its  final  meaning  in  the  new  significance 
which  it  gives  to  action.  In  other  words,  physical  science  deals 
simply  with  the  content  of  mediation,  leaving  one  side  the 
whole  process  of  mediation.  In  considering,  for  example,  a 
flower,  it  takes  account  neither  of  the  impulses  of  seeing,  of 
reaching,  touching,  smelling,  etc.,  which  make  the  flower  into 
an  object  in  consciousness  nor  yet  the  additional  value,  aesthe- 
tic and  moral,  as  well  as  intellectual,  which  our  activity  (our 
character)  will  have  as  result  of  the  study.  It  omits,  in  a 
word,  both  the  reason  for  and  the  nature  of  the  value  which 
objects  have  in  our  experience — in  relation  to  the  self. 

While  biology  is  compelled  to  assume  the  fact  of  value 
as  possessed  by  objects  in  relation  to  life  (most  generally  their 
value  in  either  maintaining  or  hindering  the  life  of  the  genus 
in  question),  it  does  not  consider  this  value  as  present  to  the 
consciousness  of  the  agent.  It  will  describe,  for  example,  the 
interaction,  both  favorable  and  unfavorable,  of  a  race  of  men 
and  their  environment,  but  it  confines  itself  to  results  actually 
accomplished.  It  puts  one  side  this  value  as  realized  in  the 
conscious  life  of  that  race,  as  affording  motive  and  assimilated 
into  character. 

Yet  science,  as  science,  does  not  deny  the  fact  of  further 
conscious  value.  It  simply  concentrates  itself  upon  other 
aspects  of  reality — the  content  which  gives  value  independent 
of  why  or  how  it  gives  it.  Neglect  is  not  denial  of  value;  and 
recognition  of  value  is  not  denial  of  science.  Ethics  completes 
the  analysis  of  reality — experience — begun  by  physical  and 
biological  science.  It  does  not  introduce  a  new  and  opposed 
set  of  ideas.  (Koyce,  Spirit  of  Modern  Philosophy,  Ch.  XII., 
distinguishes  between  the  world  of  description  and  the  world 


of  appreciation,  this  distinction  being  identical  in  statement 
with  the  distinction  just  made ;  but  he  seems  to  conceive  of  the 
" physical"  world  as  a  fixed  thing,  as,  indeed,  a  limitation,  due 
to  our  "finite  nature,"  instead  of  the  intermediate  stage  in  the 
development  of  an  act: — the  definition  of  the  conditions  of 
action). 

The  fixed,  or  absolute  ideal,  is  not  only  inexplicable,  but 
is  presupposed  or  ready  made.  Against  such  ideals,  we  may 
urge: 

(b)  No  moral  value  attaches  to  their  working  out,  or  for- 
mation. It  may  belong  to  the  attitude  taken  towards  them,  to 
their  choice  or  rejection,  but  nothing  more.  But,  in  our  actual 
experience,  no  such  separation  exists  between  forming  and 
choosing  an  end  of  action.  Our  moral  discipline  consists  even 
more  in  the  responsibility  put  upon  us  to  develop  ideals, 
than  in  choosing  between  them  when  made.  The  making 
of  plans,  working  them  out  into  their  bearings,  etc.,  is  at  once 
a  test  of  character  and  a  factor  in  building  it  up.  But  this  is 
an  impossibility  if  the  ideal  is  something  given  towards  which 
will  is  to  be  directed — if  it  lies  outside  the  normal  process  of 
volition.  (Thus,  Martineau  is  logical  in  holding  that  only  in- 
tellectual or  prudential  value  attaches  to  the  consideration  of 
consequences.  Types,  Vol.  II.,  255-56.  With  a  fixed  ideal, 
they  must  lie  outside,  be  mere  means,  and  moral  meaning  is 
found  simply  in  the  selection  of  one  or  other  of  the  ends 
given  ready-made.  Deliberation  has  no  intrinsic  moral  signi- 
ficance. So  Green  has  to  draw  a  decided  line  between  the 
estimation  of  acts,  and  of  character,  the  former  being  decided 
by  a  consideration  of  consequences,  the  latter  by  a  considera- 
tion of  the  disposition  from  which  the  act  proceeds.  Moreover 
the  consideration  of  character,  or  conscientiousness,  he  has 
logically  to  reduce  to  a  subjective  introspection  on  the  part  of 
the  agent  as  to  whether  "he  has  been  as  good  as  he  should 
have  been,"  not  an  objective  examination  of  whether  his 
interest,  or  attention,  is  rightly  distributed.  Prolegomena, 


-38  — 

317-25.     On  p.  259,  Green  takes  another  view  of  the  ideal). 

(c)  The  process  of  choice,  of  selection  between  competing 
ideals,  is  rendered  arbitrary  and  meaningless.  Why  should 
there  be  two  competing  ideals  at  all,  one  good,  the  other  bad? 
And,  supposing  there  are,  on  what  grounds  do  we  prefer  one 
to  the  other?  As  to  the  first  question,  there  appears  to  be  no 
alternative  between  saying  (with  Kant)  that  there  is  a  fixed 
dualism  in  our  nature,  sense,  as  inducing  to  evil,  being  on  one 
side,  reason,  as  good,  on  the  other;  with  Green,  that  the  par- 
ticular impulse  is  always  and  fixedly  opposed  in  its  realization, 
to  the  demand  of  our  entire  nature  (Prol.  pp.  180-3;  206-7; 
233-34);  or  (with  Martineau)  that  there  is  an  original 
fixed  scale  of  higher  and  lower  in  our  impulses.  But 
experience  does  not  testify  to  a  conflict  between  ends  one 
labelled,  from  the  start  and  unalterably,  good  and  the  other 
labelled  bad.  On  the  contrary,  one  becomes  good,  the  other 
bad,  in  the  process  of  competition  and  deliberation.  Moreover 
our  theory  accounts  for  the  presence  of  the  two  competitors  and 
the  relative  conflict  between  them;  it  is  the  old  story  of  the 
immediate  and  the  mediating  phases  of  action.  It  gives  posi- 
tive meaning  to  the  opposition — the  deepening  of  conscious- 
ness. (See  Alexander,  Moral  Order,  pp.  297-316,  also  Int. 
Journ.  Eth.,  Vol.  II,  p.  409,  for  an  adequate  recognition  of  the 
fact  that  the  competing  ends  are  made  good  and  bad,  by  the 
very  process  of  deliberation  and  choice;  or,  as  I  have  previously 
put  it,  the  process  of  action  is  itself  one  of  estimating  and 
constituting  value,  of  proving  and  approving). 

As  to  the  second  question,  on  what  grounds  does  the  self 
choose  between  the  two  fixed  ideals,  there  appears  no  answer 
save  an  appeal  to  arbitrary  free-will,  the  power  of  choosing 
between  alternatives  without  any  reason  for  the  choice.  The 
problem  of  freedom  will  meet  us  hereafter;  at  this  point,  it  is 
sufficient  to  note  that  the  sole  occasion  for  bringing  in  a  free- 
dom of  the  kind  just  referred  to,  is  that  the  alternative 
ends  to  be  chosen  are  taken  as  lying  outside  the  development 


—  39  — 

of  will.  On  our  theory,  the  emergence  of  the  ends  and  the 
final  choice  are  facts  of  exactly  the  same  order,  being  only  an 
earlier  and  a  latter  stage,  in  time,  of  the  definition  of  an  im- 
pulse in  its  relation  to  the  self.  It  may  also  be  noticed,  at  this 
point,  that  the  theory  opposed  to  freedom,  namely,  that  of 
necessitation  has  its  origin  in  exactly  the  same  assumption 
that  the  origin  and  development  of  the  ends  lie  outside  the 
self ;  being  conceived  as  foreign  forces,  it  is  natural  to  draw  the 
inference  that  the  strongest  force  determines  the  will — over- 
looking the  fact  that  ends  have  motive  power,  great  or  small, 
only  so  far  as  they  interest,  hold  attention — that  is,  express 
the  direction  in  which  the  self  is  already  moving. 

There  is  still  another  difficulty  as  to  choice.  If  one  side 
comes  thus  labelled  bad  from  the  start,  why  should  it  ever  be 
chosen  ?  Why  should  the  bad  recognized  as  such,  offering 
itself  as  such,  have  superior  value?  The  doctrine  of  original 
sin  is  the  only  logical  answer,  and  Kant  is  perfectly  logical  in 
trying  to  introduce  a  philosophical  statement  of  that  doctrine. 
Theory,  pp.  339-352.  (Abott's  trans.  "Religion  within  the 
Bounds  simply  of  Reason.") 

(d)  No  basis  is  afforded  for  development  of  moral  ideals — 
for  positive  progress.  The  ideal  is  there  once  for  all  and  it  is 
only  a  question  of  greater  or  less  distance  from  it.  The  logical 
conclusion  (not  that  these  writers  have  been  logical  enough  to 
draw  it)  is  the  Pharisaical  one — since  there  has  been  progress, 
how  much  better  morally  must  we  be  than  savages,  or  our 
primitive  ancestors,  or  "the  lower  classes,"  or  than  any  one 
else  whose  acts  do  not  rank  objectively  as  high  as  oUrs!  On 
our  theory,  it  is  the  ideal,  as  recognition  of  the  objective  mean- 
ing of  action,  which  has  progressed;  so  that  there  is  only  addi- 
tional capacity,  and  thus  additional  demand,  for  mediation. 
One  class  of  persons,  as  a  class,  is,  then,  morally  no  better 
than  any  other;  one  period  no  more  virtuous  than  another. 
Responsibilities  not  virtues,  increase.  The  increase,  that  is, 
of  knowledge  of  the  bearings  of  an  impulse  makes  care  in 


—  40  — 

action  morally  more  imperative,  we  are  no  nearer  a  goal  of 
perfection,  but  action  has  more  intellectual  and  aesthetic 
meaning. 

(e)  From  this  it  follows  also  that  progress  in  character  is 
purely  negative; — on  the  basis  of  a  fixed  ideal  it  consists  sim- 
ply in  lessening  the  gap  which  separates  us  from  the  ideal. 
The   moral  life  thus  becomes  a  struggle  towards  something 
without  and  beyond,  and,  in  so  far,   a  hopeless  and  slavish 
struggle.     The  ideal  never  is  realized,  do  what  we  may.     (Kant 
has  to  fall  back  on  purely  supernatural   means  to  meet  this 
difficulty,  Theory,  pp.   218-31).      The  ideal  has  no  self-ex- 
cuting,  no  moving  power.    It  is  never  of  itself  a  motive.    Upon 
our  theory,  the  very  fact  that  an  ideal  is  present  in  conscious- 
ness, is,  as  far  as  it  goes,  its  realization;  it  is  the  self  mov- 
ing that  way;  in  so  far  as  it  modifies  conduct,  it  is  direcive 
and  effective.     A  mere  ideal,  or  unrealized  ideal,  is  a  contra- 
diction in  terms.     The  ideal  is  a  very  present  help  in  time  of 
trouble. 

(f )  The  fixed  ideal  gives  no  instruction  or  information  as 
to  the  particular  thing  needing  to  be  done.     It  does  not  trans- 
late itself  into  terms  of  a  concrete,  individual  act — and  every 
act  is  concrete  and  individual.     In  other  words,  it  does  not  and 
cannot  become  a  working  principle  for  what  has  to  be  done. 
(See  Green,  again,  Prol.  pp.  317—25,  for  the  necessity,  on  his 
basis,  of  a  double  standard).     Such  ideals  are  pure  luxuries; 
only  the  sentimentalist  and  the  pure  theorist  can  afford  them. 
The  working  man,  of  busy  life,  must  have  an  ideal  by  which 
he  can  go  in  action,  one  which  defines  specific  acts.     (Green 
attempts  to  meet  the  need  by  reference  to  the  past  institutions 
in  which  the  ideal  is  embodied;  cf.  Prol.  p.  180;  207-8;  393- 
4.     But,  since  such  embodiments  are,  according  to  him,  only 
apparent,  not  real,  it  is  difficult  to  see  how  this  gives  the  re- 
quired instruction.     Kant  attempts  to  get  to  the  specific  act 
needed  by  reference  to   the  universal,  non-self-contradictory 
character  of   the  ideal.     Of   this,  more   below.)     Again,  our 


—  41  — 

theory  meets  this  need,  because  the  ideal  is  nothing  but  -the  • 
definition  or  mediation  of  the  immediately  acting,  or  impul-  I 
sive,  self. 

We  conclude  then,  from  our  examination  of  abstract  ideals,  • 
that  true  ideals  are  the  working  hypotheses  of  action;  they  are 
the  best  comprehension  we  can  get  of  the  value  of  our  acts; 
their  use  is  that  they  mark  our  consciousness  of  what  we  are 
doing,  not  that  they  set  up  remote  goals.     Ideals  are  like  the! 
stars;  we  steer  by  them,  not  towards  them. 

SECTION  XXII. — THE  HEDONISTIC  THEORY  OF  VALUE. 

According  to  the  theory  advanced,  value  consists  in  the 
realization  or  expression  of  impulse,  moral  value  b>eing  the 
conscious  realization  of  impulse  in  its  relation  to  the  self  or 
system  of  active  experience.  The  "ideal  "is  the  consciousness 
of  the  relationship.  The  function  of  the  ideal  is  to  give  con- 
tent or  meaning  to  the  impulse;  it  is  the  impulse  stated  in 
objective  terms.  Abstract  idealism  was  criticized  on  the 
ground  that  it  made  the  ideal  something  at  which  impulse  and 
activity  in  general  is  aimed,  and  in  which  therefore  it  is 
exhausted.  There  is  another  group  of  theories  which  also  sets 
up  an  outside  goal  for  activity,  although  differing  as  to  the 
nature  of  this  goal.  This  group  is  the  hedonistic  (from 
the  Greek,  fjdtivrj  pleasure).  It  proclaims  that  pleasure  is  the 
end  towards  which  all  action  is  directed — that  pleasurable 
feeling  (involving  the  absence  of  pain)  is  the  Summum 
Bonum,  the  supreme  good  and  thus  the  standard  for  measur- 
ing value. 

Before  passing  on  to  its  consideration,  it  may  first  be  con- 
trasted with  abstract  idealism.  Comparatively,  hedonism  may 
be  termed  empirical  idealism.  It  has  an  ideal — pleasure — but 
this  ideal  is  a  state,  a  passive  experience,  something  which  has 
already  been  enjoyed;*  as  against  this,  the  ideal  of  perfection 
set  up  by  the  other  school  is  attainable  only  in  the  remote 

*  See  note  to  p.  147  of  Murray's  Introduction  to  Ethics;  also- 
Mill,  Utilitarianism,  348-9;  Bain,  Moral  Science,  p.  27. 


—  42  — 

future — at  the  end  of  au  infinite  time  according  to  Kant  and 
Green.  The  good  of  one  school  is  reason,  that  of  the  other 
feeling.  *  The  two  schools  have  stood  over  against  each  other 
since  the  very  beginning  of  ethical  speculation.  At  first,  it 
was  the  Cynic  against  the  Cyrenaic;  then  the  Stoic  against 
the  Epicurean;  latterly,  the  Kantian  against  the  Utilitarian. 
(See  Sidgwick,  History  of  Ethics,  pp  32-33  and  71-88). 

Such  a  continuous  opposition  is  accounted  for  on  the  ground 
not  that  one  is  all  truth,  and  the  other  all  error;  but  on  the 
ground  that  each  school  represents  the  abstraction  of  one 
phase  of  the  process  of  volition.  In  truth,  the  process  begins 
and  ends  in  activity;  the  beginning  being  impulsive  (original 
or  habitual)  activity,  the  end  activity  whose  value  has  been 
measured.  In  this  process,  reason  (the  phase  selected  and 
set  up  independently  by  the  abstract  idealists)  represents  the 
transition  from  the  immediate  to  the  mediated  activity — the 
consciousness  of  the  relations  of  the  impulse,  the  objectified 
impulse,  while  feeling  (the  phase  abstracted  by  the  empiri- 
cists) represents  the  consciousness  of  value  to  the  agent  as  an 
individual — the  activity  in  its  subjective  existence.  Reason  is 
turning  the  action  inside  out,  seeing  it  as  part  of  a  general 
order,  independent  of  the  individual's  own  immediate  propen- 
sities. Hence  the  ideas  of  spectator,  disinterested,  universal, 
which  associate  themselves  so  easily  with  reason.  Rational 
content  is  required  to  give  the  individual's  feeling  substance 
and  real  worth.  Feeling  is  turning  the  action  outside  in;  it  is 
the  realization  of  value  terms  of  the  agent's  own  peculiar 
character,  f 

Hedonism  (as  compared  with  rationalism)  fails  to  see  that 
the  nature  or  content  of  this  value  (as  distinct  from  the  mere 
fact  of  some  value)  depends  upon  the  mediation  of  reason; 

*"  Reason  is  and  must  be  the  slave  of  passion  " — Hume.  See 
Treatise  on  Human  Nature,  B'k  II,  P't  3,  Sees.  3  and  4. 

t  Hence  Lotze's  hedonistic  tendencies.  See  Practical.  Phil- 
osophy, pp  15-20. 


—  43  — 

while  abstract  idealism  fails  to  note  that  the  reduction  of  self 
to  reason  or  thought  leaves  the  self  in  the  air,  with  no  indi- 
vidualized value.  Each  of  them  has  to  disparage  the  opposite 
principle,  or  reduce  it  to  a  mere  means  to  its  own  end.  The 
theory  of  experimental  idealism  ( as  we  term  the  position  here 
taken),  because  of  its  recognition  of  activity  as  the  primary 
reality  is  enabled  to  give  both  thought  and  feeling  their  due. 
It  does  not  attempt  the  impossible  task  of  setting  up  for 
activity  some  end,  whether  a  state  of  feeling  or  one  of  perfect 
reason,  outside  itself.  It  is  content  to  note  that  activity,  moving 
according  to  its  own  law  and  principle,  becomes  objectively 
conscious  of  its  value  in  the  ends  which  it^  projects  (ideals) 
and  subjectively  conscious  of  its  value  in  the  emotions  which 
accompany  the  realizing  of  these  ends. 

As  compared  with  the  facts,  then,  both  ethical  rationalism 
and  empiricism  take  a  derived  and  secondary  phase  for  the 
whole  truth.  As  compared  with  each  other,  rationalism  is 
right  in  so  far  as  it  asserts  that  feelings  (or  pleasure  and 
pain)  are  mere  abstractions  apart  from  the  objects  (or  rational 
contents)  which  give  them  their  quality,  while  empiricism  is 
right  in  asserting  that  an  end  which  is  not  felt  (that  is, 
appreciated  as  part  of  the  agent's  own  being)  has  no  moral 
validity  or  claims. 

SECTION  XXIII. — FEELING  AS  END  OK  IDEAL. 

We  shall  consider  pleasure-pain,  ( 1 )  as  end  or  ideal  of 
action,  (2)  as  motive,  and  (3)  as  criterion  or  measure  of  value. 

The  contradiction  in  hedonism  meets  us  at  the  outset. 
Pleasure  and  pain  as  feelings  exist  only  as  they  are  actually 
felt,  and  to  the  one  who  feels  them.  Because  we  have  one 
word,  we  are  apt  to  suppose  that  there  is  some  one  fact  or 
entity  corresponding.  There  are,  indeed,  pleasures  and  pains, 
but  no  such  thing  as  pleasure  in  general.  Hence  we  cannot 
aim  at  pleasure.  It  is  a  pure  abstraction. 

We  may  aim,  however,  it  will  be  said,  at  some  particular 
pleasure,  the  pleasure  of  eating  an  apple,  of  performing  a 


_44 

charitable  act,  of  deceiving  an  enemy,  etc.  Even  here,  how- 
ever, there  is  ambiguity,  and  even  self-contradiction  in  the 
theory  as  ordinarily  stated.  There  is  confusion  of  an  ideal  of 
pleasure — the  conception  of  what  constitutes  pleasure — with 
pleasure  as  an  ideal.  Since  pleasure  exists  only  while  it  is 
felt,  to  say  that  it  is  aimed  at  must  mean  that  there  is  a 
thought  of  it  formed .  Now  this  thought  will  either  be  an 
image  so  distinct  that  it  is  itself  pleasurable,  or  it  will  be 
a  conception  of  the  objects  or  ends  which  afford  pleasure, 
or  yield  satisfaction.  Take  any  of  the  instances  above  given 
and  it  will  be  seen  that  these  two  alternatives  exhaust  the  pos- 
sibilities. Neither  of  them  is  equivalent  to  pleasure  as  an 
ideal.  In  the  former  case,  a  pleasure  is  actually  felt  and  no 
action  is  called  forth  aimed  at  it.  In  the  latter  case  there  is  a 
presentation  of  the  ends  whose  attainment  is  regarded  as 
affording  satisfaction,  and  (through  redintegration)  of  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  accompanying  pleasure.  But  neither  actually 
experienced  pleasure,  nor  a  consideration  of  the  objects  which 
afford  enjoyment  is  pleasurable  feeling  as  an  aim  of  action^ 
This  latter  is  a  psychological  impossibility.  But  since  the 
idea  has  prevailed,  not  only  that  pleasure  is  a  possible  end  of 
action,  but  that  it  is  the  only  end,  it  must  be  examined  in 
more  detail.  The  idea  is  usually  presented  in  connection  with 
a  theory  of  desire.  (For  the  notion  that  pleasure  is  the  object 
of  desire  see:  Mill,  Utilitarianism,  354-5;  Bain,  Emotions  and 
Will,  Part  II,  ch.  8;  Senses  and  Intellect,  338-344;  Spencer, 
Data,  pp.  26-44;  Sully,  Outlines  of  Psychology,  pp.  574-589, 
Human  Mind,  Vol.  II,  pp.  196-207;  Thompson,  System  of 
Psychology,  Part  IX;  Lotze,  Microcosmus,  Vol.  I,  pp.  678- 
706.  Most  of  these  cover  other  points  in  the  hedonistic  theory 
besides  the  relation  of  pleasure  and  desire.  Stephen,  Science 
of  Ethics,  pp.  42-57  and  246-/63,  is  noteworthy  for  the  clear- 
ness with  which  he  shows  the  confusion  in  ordinary  hedonism 
as  to  the  end,  while  still  himself  holding  that  pleasure  is- 
motive ). 


—  45  — 

SECTION  XXIV. — HAPPINESS  AND  DESIRE. 

It  is  generally  held  by  hedonists  to  be  self-evident  that  we 
desire  pleasure,  and  avoid  pain.  The  doctrine  is  even  tautol- 
ogy, according  to  them.  Good,  pleasure,  the  desirable  are 
synonornous  terms;  evil,  pain,  that  to  which  we  are  averse 
mean  the  same  experience.  Substituting  'happiness'  for  'pleas- 
ure', 'misery'  for  'pain',  we  agree  Unreservedly  to  this  state- 
ment, and  yet  insist  that  it  does  not  mean  that  pleasure  is  the 
object  of  desire,  or  aim  of  action.  It  is  true  that  good  (hap- 
piness) is  the  satisfaction,  evil  the  thwarting  of  desire.  This 
measures,  or  defines,  happiness  in  terms  of  desire;  desire  is 
the  primary  fact,  happiness  its  fulfilling,  its  completion. 
Hedonism  sees  the  connection,  but  reverses  its  direction.  It 
takes  happiness  as  a  fixed  fact,  and  then  tries  to  define  desire 
in  terms  of  happiness — as  that  which  aims  at  it.  It  is  true 
that  happiness  is  found  in  the  satisfaction  of  any  desire,  par- 
ticularly in  the  degree  of  its  dominance:  happiness  is  this 
satisfaction  of  desire.  But  hedonism  transforms  this  fact  into 
the  notion  that  somehow  pleasure  is  there  as  an  ideal,  and  its 
contemplation  arouses  desire.  As  Green  says  (Prolegomena, 
p.  168)  the  hedonists  make  the  "mistake  of  supposing  that 
a  desire  can  be  excited  by  the  anticipation  of  its  own  satisfac- 
tion." 

This  identity  of  happiness  with  satisfaction  of  desire  is  the 
reason  for  substituting  'happiness'  for  'pleasure'.  Pleasure 
and  pain  are  often  passive  and  accidental  (pathological,  Kant 
terms  it.  Theory,p.  106 ) .  A  child  goes  on  the  street  and  hears 
pleasant  music;  he  runs  and  has  a  painful  fall;  a  man  inherits 
money  and  finds  himself  in  the  possession  of  new  resources,  he 
invests  money  safely,  as  he  supposes,  and  finds  it  swept  away 
by  a  sudden  panic.  It  is  absurd  to  deny  that  satisfaction  and 
dissatisfaction,  in  the  way  of  pleasure  and  pain,  result  in  all 
these  instances;  yet  common  speech  agrees  with  sound  theory 
in  holding  that  any  one  or  all  of  them  may  become  parts  of 
either  happiness  or  misery,  weal  or  woe,  according  to  the  re- 


—  46  — 

lation  assumed  towards  them  by  the  dominant  desires  (that  is 
character)  of  tne  individual*  (see  Alexander,  Moral  Order, 
pp.  212-218). 

SECTION  XXV. — THE  NATURE  OF  DESIRE. 

The  hedonist,  then,  gives  the  following  account  of  desire. 
Admitting  that  the  original,  or  impulsive,  activity  does  not 
occur  for  the  sake  of  pleasure,  it  is  held  that  when  pleasure  or 
pain  is  experienced  as  a  result  of  action,  the  image  of  mem- 
ory of  the  feeling  occuring  afterwards  arouses  a  desire  for  its 
renewal  (if  pleasure),  or  aversion,  a  movement  to  escape  it 
(if  pain). 

Concerning  this  account  a  question  arises.  How  does  this 
image  of  memory  happen  to  occur  to  the  mind  ?  No  image  or 
memory  can  come  into  the  mind  directly  or  of  itself ;  there 
must  be  some  suggestion,  association  or  exciting  stimulus.  We 
may  suppose  (i)  that  the  object  which  gave  the  satisfaction 
before  is  seen  (as  a  child,  having  eaten  sugar  once,  sees  it 
again),  and  this  redintegrates  the  pleasure  image.  Now  (a) 
this,  at  most,  is  an  accidental  and,  morally,,  unimportant  way 
for  desire  to  originate.  A  character  whose  desires  were  habit- 
ually aroused  in  this  style  would  be  immature;  it  would  be 
the  sport  of  caprice  and  circumstance,  with  no  settled  lines  of 
action.  This  theory  presupposes  that  the  mind  is,  like  Micawber, 
passively  waiting  for  experiences  to  "  turn  up."  In  the  child, 
or  in  any  character  so  far  as  morally  immature,  the  relatively 
accidental  recognition  of  an  object  may  arouse  its  own  isolated 
line  of  action.  But  moral  training  consists  not  in  perpetuating 
this  mode  of  action,  but  in  eliminating  it.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  even  a  child  is  actually  engaged  from  the  outset  and  all 
the  time  in  activity.  He  has  his  own  impulses,  or  lines  of 

*I  do  not  mean  that  the  words  'pleasure'  and  'happiness'  are 
marked  off  to  denote  exclusively  these  two  kinds  of  satisfaction,  one 
comparatively  extraneous  to  character,  the  other  measured  by  it,  but 
only  to  insist  that  there  are  these  two  types  of  satisfaction,  and  that 
common  speech  is  quite  aware  of  their  difference. 


—  47  — 

discharge,  representing  the  selected  outcome  of  generations  of 
activity.  The  child's  immaturity  chiefly  consists  not  in  the  fact 
that  it  is  passively  dependent  upon  external  excitations,  but  in 
the  lack  of  continuity  in  the  activities  set  up  by  the  organs 
themselves.  One  way  of  action  gives  way  to  another  without 
reference  to  a  general  or  comprehensive  plan.  In  other  words, 
the  impulse  is  not  mediated  or  rationalized,  (b)  Even  in  the 
child,  therefore,  the  object  arouses  the  desire  because  of 
the  activity  already  going  on.  The  child's  primary  impulse  is 
already  there — that  of  eating.  The  presentation  of  the  object 
and  the  representation  of  the  satisfaction  previously  had  in 
connection  with  it,  simply  deflects,  or  mediates,  this  activity. 

This  suggests  the  fundamental  fallacy  in  the  old  case  of 
the  ass  evenly  balanced  between  two  bundles  of  hay.  It  sup- 
poses  that  the  desirable  quality,  the  power  of  inciting  activity, 
resides  in  the  object  entirely  independent  of  the  activity  of 
the  organism.  As  matter  of  fact,  the  animal  (and  so  with 
man)  is  already  doing  something,  looking,  or  moving,  this 
way  or  that,  and  so  the  hypothesis  of  a  purely  indeterminate 
equilibrium  is  absurd — it  assumes  impossible  conditions. 

Pleasure,  in  other  words,  is  not  suggested  immediately  by 
the  object,  sugar,  but  by  the  activity  of  tasting,  which  consti- 
tutes the  practical  meaning  of  that  object. 

This  brings  us  (ii)  to  the  normal  case.  The  pleasure  is 
aroused  because  the  activity  already  asserting  itself,  as  a 
habit  more  or  less  organized,  hits  in  idea  upon  the  object 
(that  is,  the  conditions)  which  will  afford  it  fulfillment.  The 
recognition  of  the  congruity  of  the  object  to  the  activity 
arouses  the  pleasure.  A  hungry  child,  seeing  or  thinking  of 
something  to  eat,  experiences  gratification  in  the  thought;  an 
engineer,  trying  to  express  his  engineering  capacity,  thinks  of 
a  new  machine  and  experiences  pleasure,  etc.  Instead  of  the 
image  of  pleasure  exciting  the  action,  the  activity  already 
going  on  sets  up  a  pleasure  by  calling  into  consciousness  the 
conditions  (the  object)  of  its  satisfaction.  There  is  no  image 


-48  — 

of  a  past  pleasure  once  experienced  or  of  a  future  pleasure  to 
be  attained;  there  is  a  present  pleasurable  experience.  This 
brings  out  the  fact  that  desire,  instead  of  being  the  beginning 
of  activity  caused  by  a  state  of  feeling,  is  a  stage  in  its- 
development  arising  when  both  the  original  and  the  induced 
activity  are  in  consciousness  but  have  not  yet  come  to  a  com- 
plete agreement,  or  co-ordination.  (It  is  the  same  condition 
as  that  already  noticed  as  effort. )  Desire  is  not  excited  or 
aroused  by  any  eiid,  whether  pleasure  or  anything  else.  It  is 
a  phase  in  the  growth  of  valued,  or  rationalized,  action. 

At  this  stage  of  development  there  is  more  than  pleasure 
felt;  there  is  also  pain.  Pleasure  is  felt  so  far  as  the  object 
(the  mediating  or  induced  experience)  is  present  in  idea,  thus 
promising  future  satisfaction.  Pain  is  felt  so  far  as  it  is  pres- 
ent only  in  idea,  not  in  act. 

The  actual  perception  of  the  sugar  is  still,  in  part,  merely 
ideal,  so  far  as  the  activity  is  concerned:  the  activity  which  is 
striving  to  assert  itself  is  not  seeing  the  sugar,  but  tasting  it. 
So  far  as  the  sight  promises  success,  by  redintegrating  further 
acts  (reaching,  etc. ),  it  is  pleasurable,  the  draft  the  organs  of 
tasting  make  upon  it  being  honored.  But  so  far  as  the  full 
activity  is  still  non-existent,  there  is  pain. 

The  very  essence  of  desire  is  tension,  divided  activity. 
The  self  is  divided  against  itself;  activity  is  partial.  So  far 
as  it  goes,  it  is  action,  and  hence  pleasurable;  but  as  partial, 
it  is  painful.  Desire  is  neither  complete  activity  aiming  at 
a  state  outside  itself,  nor  a  condition  of  sheer  emptiness.*  It  is 
conflicting  activity.  The  man  who  desires  an  education  in  so 
far  as  he  can  "objectify"  his  desire  (that  is, present  to  himself 
the  conditions  which  will  farther  his  self-assertion  in  that 
direction),  is  in  so  far  already  acting  in  the  desired  direction, 
and  there  is  satisfaction;  but  in  so  far  as  he  is  at  present 

*The  double  sense  of  words  here  is  suggestive.  Want  means 
both  lack  and  demand;  it  is  dynamic,  and  still  partial^  Capacity 
means  both  power  (actuality)  and  possibility  (ideality). 


—  49  — 


acting  in  ways  which  must  be  mediated,  or  transformed,  there 
is  conflict  and  dissatisfaction.  The  pleasure-pain  condition  of 
desire  reports,  in  other  words,  the  existing  state  of  action;  it 
does  not  initiate  it. 

In  any  account  of  desire,  there  are  three  elements  to  be 
dealt  with — activity,  object  of  desire  (end  thought  of  as  satis- 
fying), and  feeling.  According  to  hedonism,  the  object 
awakens  feeling,  and  the  feeling  arouses  active  desire.  I 
have  tried  to  show  above  that  the  feeling  is  the  activity  sub- 
jectively appreciated;  it  is  equally  true,  on  our  theory,  that 
the  object  is  no  independent  thing,  but  is  the  activity  pre- 
sented to  intelligence — is  the  content  of  action,  the  statement 
of  the  conditions  involved.  The  thought  of  food  is  the  defini- 
tion, in  objective  terms,  of  hunger;  a  complex  set  of  commer- 
cial relations  (a  plan  of  business)  is  the  objective  definition  of 
the  impulse  to  assert  one's  self  in  nature;  the  conception  of  con- 
ditions of  political  power  the  objectifying  of  its  special 
impulse,  etc.  '  Object '  and  pleasure-pain  feeling  are  thus 
the  correlative  phases,  objective  and  subjective,  of  activity. 

The  fundamental  fallacy  of  both  perfectionism  and  hed- 
onism is  thus  the  same.  Both  assume  value  as  something 
presented  to  the  self,  and  awakening  and  measuring  activity. 
In  truth,  value  is  constituted  by  activity.  (An  interesting 
form  of  the  assumption  of  a  fixed  system  of  goods  or  values 
(not  hedonistic)  towards  which  activity  sLould  be  directed 
will  be  found  in  the  International  Journal  Ethics,  Vol.  II, 
in  an  article  by  Mr.  Davidson,  entitled  "The  Ethics  of  an 
Eternal  Being."  All  formulae  like  the  one  there  given 
(p.  306)  reverse  the  real  state  of  the  case.  They  assume  the 
existence  of  valuable  ends  towards  which  interest,  attention, 
affection  are  to  be  directed,  forgetting  that  such  ends  are 
simply  the  objective  expression  of  interest  and  attention. ) 

Arguments  against  the  idea  that  pleasure  is  the  object  of 
desire  will  be  found  in  James,  Psychology,  Vol.  II. ,  pp.  549- 
559;  Green,  Proleg.,  pp.  163-177;  Bradley,  Ethical  Studies, 


—  50  — 

pp.  226-235,  and  Mind,  Vol.  13,  p.  1;  Sidgwick,  Methods  of 
Ethics,  pp.  34-47,  Mind,  Vol.  2,  p.  27,  and  Contemporary 
Eeview,  1871,  p.  671;  Alexander,  Moral  Order,  pp.  186-225; 
Dewey,  Outlines,  pp.  17-30;  Muirhead,  Elements,  pp.  92-111 ; 
Murray,  Introduction,  pp.  160-173;  Mackenzie,  Manual,  89- 
116.  Most  of  these  references  deal  with  the  question  of 
motive  as  well  as  of  end.  The  criticisms  of  hedonism  advanced 
above  are  practically  identical  with  many  of  those  contained 
in  the  references.  The  positive  doctrine  of  desire  is,  perhaps, 
more  nearly  allied  to  that  of  Spinoza,  according  to  which  desire 
is  a  form  of  fundamental  self-assertion.  It  is  not  aroused  by 
some  'end.'  but  the  'end'  or  'object'  is  the  consciousness  of 
the  nature,  or  content,  of  self-assertion.  See  Spinoza,  Ethics, 
Part  III,  props.  6-9  and  def.  1  of  the  affects.  In  Part  IV, 
props.  14-37,  desire  seems  at  times  to  be  defined  in  terms  of 
"  Good,"  and  good  at  other  times  in  terms  of  desire  —as  the 
content  of  self  realization.  The  latter  is  the  characteristic 
doctrine,  in  any  case.  See  III,  9,  schol.,  and  39,  schol. 

AX/I 
SECTION JSfJjFf — PLEASURE  AND  MOTIVE. 

As  already  stated,  most  hedonists  confuse  the  idea  of 
pleasure  as  object  of  desire  with  pleasure  as  motive.  This 
confusion  testifies  to  a  right  psychological  instinct :  that  which 
is  an  aim  of  action  must  also  move  to  action.  There  must  be 
an  identification  of  the  real  concrete  ideal  with  the  impelling 
spring  to  action.  Unless  the  aim  or  ideal  itself  becomes  a 
moving  force,  it  is  barren  and  helpless.  Unless  the  moving 
force  becomes  itself  idealized,  unless  it  is  permeated  with  the 
object  aimed  at,  it  remains  mere  impulse,  blind  and  irrational. 
According  to  hedonism,  the  ideal  and  motive  may  be  confused 
with  each  other,  but  they  cannot  be  identified.  The  thought 
of  pleasure  is  either  simply  an  abstract  conception,  coldly 
intellectual,  of  the  means  to  getting  pleasure,  or  it  is  a  con- 
crete image  of  pleasure— that  is,  itself  a  pleasure.  In  neither 
case  is  it  a  motive.  In  the  former  case,  it  is  simply  an 
Abstract  idea,  without  practical  efficiency;  in  the  latter  case,  the 


—  51  — 

pleasure  is  already  enjoyed  or  experienced,  and  there  is  no 
cause  for  action.* 

We  are  in  this  dilemma  in  hedonism.  If  the  motive  is 
feeling,  it  can  suggest  no  intention  whatever,  and  thus  cannot 
move  to  anything  in  particular.  There  is  a  certain  state  being 
experienced,  and  that  ends  the  story.  Or,  if  there  is  a  definite 
aim  or  intention  in  view,  that  end  will  arouse  feeling  only  in 
the  degree  in  which  it  expresses  activity — tendency  towards  or 
away.  The  feeling  excited  will  not  be  the  moving  spring,  but 
will  indicate  or  register  the  extent  to  which  the  self  is  moved. 
There  is  no  connecting  link,  on  its  theory,  between  aim  and 
motive. 

We  may  freely  admit,  with  the  hedonist,  that  bare  thought  ^ 
does  not  induce,  is  not  motive.     But  before  we  can  infer  from  v 
this  that  an  ideal  is  not  motive,  we  must  be  able  to  show  that  an  ,' 
ideal,  or  aim,  is  mere  thought.     On  the  contrary,  it  is  the 
induced  or  mediating  activity.     The  ideal,  indeed,  is  a  concep-  j 
tion  or  thought;  but  as  such,  as   intellectual,   it  simply  gives  r 
definiteness  and  coherency  to  the  content  of  the  induced  self.  I 
The  concrete  ideal  is  always  activity  asserting  itself  in  another 
direction  from  the  present,  natural,  activity. 

Physiology  has,  indeed,  afforded  a  complete  disproof  of 
any  theory  which  makes  a  gap  between  the  ideal  (or  intellect) 
and  overt  action.  From  the  side  of  the  expenditure  of  energy, 
the  sole  difference  between  thought  and  action  is  in  the 
external,  or  gross,  visibility  of  the  discharge.  Thinking 
involves  molecular  motion,  and  continued  discharge  to  the 
muscles  and  glands.  The  question  of  the  final  passage  of 
idea  into  act  is  simply  the  question  of  the  concentration 
(unification)  of  this  organic  activity  in  some  definite  direction. 

*Stepen,  Science,  p.  51,  holds  that  pleasure  means  per- 
sistence in  given  state,  pain  change.  So  also  Ward,  Psychic  Fac- 
tors of  Civilization,  p.  54,  who  goes  to  the  extreme  of  holding  that 
all  desire  is  pain,  while  still  defining  it  as  representation  of  pleas- 
ure as  well  as  pain  (p.  52). 


—  52  — 

Physiologically,  the  entire  friction  of  thought  consists  in  trans- 
forming the  vague,  diffuse  and  non-valued  (valuable,  but  not 
defined  or  measured  as  to  value)  activity  of  infancy  into  defi- 
nite, co-ordinated  and  intentional  (measured)  activity. 

Upon  our  view,  then,  the  ideal  and  motive  are  both  names 
for  self  in  certain  phases  of  action.  If  a  man  kills  another 
intentionally,  his  ideal,  the  thought  of  the  removal  of  the  other 
man,  is  not  something  beyond  himself — there  is  no  way  for 
the  thought,  even  as  thought,  to  come  into  his  mind,  save  as  a 
projection  of  himself.  That  the  thought  dwells  there  and 
becomes  an  impelling  force  to  action  (a  motive)  is  simply  the 
realization,  the  definite  recognition,  of  the  extent  to  which  the 
self  is  involved  in  that  ideal,  of  the  extent  to  which  that  ideal 
is  the  self.  The  act  of  reflection  is  a  phase  of  the  act  of  ful- 
fillment. 

We  thus  come  to  the  question  of  intention  and  motive. 
The  hedonist  asserts  that  the  motive  is  always  a  feeling  of 
pleasure-pain,  the  intention  is  the  consequences  aimed  at.* 

We  assert  that  both  intention  and  motive  are  the  self  in 
action,  and  the  sole  difference  is  that  motive  is  intention  com- 
pletely developed,  the  concrete  or  unified  self. 

A  man  wills  to  kill  another.  Roughly  speaking,  intention 
corresponds  to  what  he  wills,  motive  to  why  he  wills  it.  His 
intention  is  the  "foreseen  consequences,''  his  motive,  that 
which  makes  him  desire  them.  His  intention  is  the  death  of 
another  man;  his  motive  varies  according  as  he  is  seeking  re- 
venge, is  a  soldier  in  war,  or  is  engaged  in  defending  himself 
from  an  assault.  So  far  all  agree.  Does  the  complete  separ- 
ation of  intention  and  motive  follow  from  this  account  ? 

Intention,  as  above  illustrated,  is  an  abstraction  of  intel- 
lectual analysis.  No  man  ever  intends  merely  to  kill  another. 
He  intends  to  save  his  own  life,  to  defend  his  country,  to  "  get 
even  "  with  another,  to  get  money,  or,  maybe,  to  exhibit  his 

*  Mill,  "  The  intention  is  what  the  agent  wills  to  do,  the  motive 
is  the  feeling  that  makes  him  so  will  to  do." 


—  53  — 

own  markmanship.  The  "killing  another"  is  simply  part  of 
the  intent,  of  the  whole  aim.  It  is  necessary  to  dis- 
cover intention  in  the  narrower  sense  in  order  to  determine 
that  one  acts  in  the  moral  sphere  at  all,  but  it  is  necessary  to 
discover  the  whole  concrete  aim  before  we  can  find  what  a  man 
really  wills.  Now  the  moment  we  have  the  whole  aim,  we  **' 
have  motive  also.  To  defend  self,  to  get  revenge,  is  what 
impels  a  man  to  act.  Or,  if  on  the  other  hand,  we  sayi 
revenge,  ambition,  avarice,  patriotism  is  the  motive  to  murder, 
this  sense  of  motive  is  a  mere  sentiment,  an  abstraction  (and 
hence  incapable  of  inducing  action),  or  it  means  an  active 
attitude  toicards  certain  ideals — and  this  is  simply  the  con- 
crete aim.  Suppose  Napoleon's  motive  was  ambition.  Many 
men  are  ambitious  ;  why  do  they  not  do  what  he  did  ?  If 
ambition  is  a  mere  feeling,  it  will  never  induce  action  at  all  ; 
it  will  not  define  or  suggest  any  particular  act  to  be  performed. 
It  will  remain  stuck  in  its  own  sentimental,  self-absorbed 
dreaming.  A  working  ambition  must  translate  itself  into 
thought,  into  the  idea'  of  objects,  and  must  be  interest  in  these ' 
definite  ends  or  objects;  it  must  be  a  demand  for  the  reality 
of  certain  ideas.  It  thus  includes  intention,  in  the  abstract  sense 
of  that  word,  and  is  intention  in  its  full  sense — that  at  which  a 
man  really,  and  not  simply  incidentally,  aims. 

An  objection  sometimes  made  will  bring  out  the  point. 
Suppose  a  man  shoots  at  game,  knowing  that  a  man  is  near 
the  line  of  fire;  he  kills  the  man.  Now,  it  is  urged,  his  motive 
clearly  implies  lack  of  regard  for  life,  but  it  cannot  be  said 
that  he  intended  to  kill  the  man. 

Or,  from  the  other  side,  it  may  be  said  that  Brutus  intended 
to  kill  C?esar,  and  yet  the  killing  of  Cresar  was  not  part  of  his 
motive  (Mackenzie,  Manual,  p.  40).  As  to  the  first,  the  agent 
did  not  intend,  by  itself,  to  kill  the  man;  yet  neither  did  he 
intend,  merely  by  itself,  to  kill  the  deer.  He  intended,  as  a 
result,  a  form  of  satisfaction  of  which  the  possible  death  of  a 
man,  as  well  as  of  a  deer,  was  a  part — and  this  aim,  as  self- 


—  54  — 

expression,  was  tbe  impelling  force.  As  to  the  second  instance, 
Brutus  did  not  intend  simply  to  kill  Caesar:  he  intended  a  cer- 
tain deliverance  of  his  country,  or  a  certain  self-advancement, 
the  death  of  Caesar  forming  a  constituent  part  of  this  aim ;  and 
in  just  this  same  sense  the  thought  of  the  death  of  Caesar  (which 
is  what  I  take  Mackenzie  to  mean  by  the  loose  phrase  "the  kill- 
ing of  Caesar")  was  a  part  of  his  motive;  he  took  a  positive 
interest  in  the  thought  of  Caesar  out  of  the  way,  an  interest 
which  was  sufficient  to  induce  him  to  do  the  deed.  His  whole 
ideal,  of  which  the  removal  of  Caesar  was  a  part,  was  what 
moved  him. 

The  identity  of  the  complete  intention  and  the  motive  may 
also  be  gathered  from  a  consideration  of  the  circumstances 
under  which  we  give  credit  to  a  man  for  a  good  intention  even 
when  ,no  act  is  obvious.  We  do  so  only  when  the  agent  can 
point  to  effort  on  his  part,  and  to  obstacles  which  prevented 
execution.  If  a  man  says  he  really  intended  to  do  a  certain 
duty  but  forgot  it,  we  may  indeed  recognize  the  intention  so 
far  as  entertaining  the  thought  is,  psychologically,  action,  but 
at  the  same  time  must  recognize  that  the  possibility  of  forgetting 
shows  that  the  matter  was  not  really  "on  his  mind."  That 
is,  we  infer  from  the  fact  that  it  did  not  move  him  to  the  fact 
that  it  was  only  half -formed  intention.  We  always,  practi- 
cally, judge  intention  from  act,  provided  we  have  sufficient  data 
to  enable  us  to  judge  intelligibly  concerning  the  act.  Sound 
psychology  justifies  our  condemnation  of  the  man  who  has 
"  good  intentions"  but  no  deeds  to  show;  his  action,  in  reveal- 
ing himself,  reveals  his  true  intent  and  gives  the  lie  to  his  pro- 
fession. 

The  impossibility  of  really  judging  the  conduct  of  others, 
as  maintained  by  Kant  (Theory,  pp.  23-24)  and  by  Green 
(Proleg.,  p.  318),  is  a  fiction  resulting  from  separation  of 
motive  and  intention.  There  is,  of  course,  always  difficulty  in 
deciding  what  the  act  is,  but  so  far  as  we  can  tell  this,  we  can 
tell  the  intention,  and  knowing  the  intention  executed,  can  tell 


-55- 

in  ichat  kind  of  ends  the  man  is  sufficiently  interested  to  be 
moved  by  them  to  act— can  estimate  his  character. 

This  brings  us  again  to  the  question:  Is  feeling  motive? 
Yes,  and  no.  Decidedly  no,  in  the  sense  in  which  the  consist- 
ent hedonist  must  use  the  term  feeling — a  state  of  experienced 
pain — or  pleasure.  Yes,  in  the  sense  in  which  practical  life 
uses  the  term:  An  active  interest  in  certain  ends,  that  interest 
expressing  the  controlling  lines  of  activity.*  o.  ^r 

The  distinctions  of  interest  from  mere  feeling,  or  passive       "  "3 

^^          \Jv 

affections  are :  U^j$^  V.* 

( 1 )  Interest  is  active,  projective.     We  take  interest.     In- 
terest is  demand,  insistence.     Whenever  we  have  an  interest  i 

in  any  thought,  we  cherish  it,  cling  to  it,  endeavor  in  all  ways      y~* 
to  realize  or  fullfil  it. 

( 2 )  Interest  implies  an  object — the  end,  or  thought,  which 
claims  attention.     We  are  interested  in  something,  while  mere 
feeling   begins    and   ends  in  itself.      In  common    speech  an 
"interest"  means  the  end  which  dominates  activity. 

(3)  Interest  (inter-esse)  implies  the  relation  which  the  in- 
teresting end  bears  to  the  controlling  lines  of  action,  to  char- 
acter.    It  expresses  the  identification  of  the  object  with  the 
subject.     Mere  feeling  does  not  involve  this  complete  inter- 
action with  character.     Because  of  this  difference,  mere  feel- 
ing is  of  value  only  while  felt,  as  actually  experienced;  an 
interest  has  value  on  its  own  account  (as  the  outworking  of 
character)  whether  the  objective  aim  included  within  it  is  ever 
externally  experienced  or  not.     "It  is  better  to  have  loved  and 
lost  than  never  to  have  loved   at   all."     It  is  better  to  aim 
at   anything  which  calls  forth  the  powers  of  the  self   than 
to  get   the   passive   enjoyment   of  any  object   whatever;  the 
true  satisfaction  of  interest  lies  in  the  assertion  of  its  activity 
and  not  in  the  mere  results  attained.     That  is,  the  assertion  of 

*  Common  speech  often  uses  feeling  to  denote  impulse. 
Hoefi'ding,  Psychology,  seems  to  use  feeling  in  a  dynamic  sense 
which  brings  it  close  to  impulse,  and  yet  pp.  23o-3t>,  he  makes 
impulse  a  derivation  from  feeling. 


—  56  — 

self  is  the  result,  in  comparison  with  which  all  other  results 
are  insignificant.  This  is  that  independence  of  the  moral 
agent  of  all  the  contingencies  of  life,  of  which  the  Stoics  made 
so  much. 

We  conclude,  then,  by  saying  that  the  term  '  motive '  sim- 
ply expresses  the  moving  force  or  interest  of  a  given  end  or 
aim,  this  interest  indicating  the  extent  to  which  the  self  finds 
its  own  character  involved  in  the  realization  of  that  end. 
Confirmation,  if  any  further  is  necessary,  is  found  in  the  fact 
that  all  hedonists,  since  James  Mill,  have  used  their  theory  of 
motives  to  furnish  the  machinery  by  which  certain  ends  are 
made  active  interests  of  the  individual  agent.  The  sub- 
ject with  which  they  have  really  dealt  is  not  the  psycho- 
logy of  motive  as  such,  but  rather  this  problem :  Given  certain 
ends  which  are  requisite  to  the  welfare  of  society,  how  can 
these  ends  be  rendered  motives  to  the  individual?  Their 
answer  has  been:  We  must  so  connect,  through  the  instru- 
mentalities of  pleasure  and  pain,  these  ends  with  the  individ- 
ual's own  welfare  that  they  shall  become  identified  with  his 
conception  of  himself.  In  other  words,  their  practical  as- 
sumption is  not  that  feeling  as  such  is  motive,  but  that  feeling 
may  be  so  used  as  to  make  certain  aims,  otherwise  lying  out- 
side of  the  agent  and  hence  indifferent,  interests  to  him. 

The  following  references  will  give  the  status  of  the  discus- 
sion of  intention  and  motive  from  the  time  of  James  Mill  to 
the  present.  James  Mill,  Analysis  of  Human  Mind,  Vol.  II, 
Chs.  2'i  and  25;  Bentham,  Principles,  Chs.  8  and  10,  p.  71, 
92-95,  97-103;  Austin,  Jurisprudence,  Vol.  I,  Chs.  18-20; 
Mill,'  Utilitarianism,  p.  27,  note  (Eng.  ed.,  not  in  Am.,  but 
quoted  in  next  reference);  Green,  Proelg.,  pp.  315-25;  Inter- 
national Jour.  Eth.,  Vol.  IV.,  pp.  89-94  and  229-38,  and  refer- 
ences there  given. 


-57- 

SECTION  XXVII. — PLEASURE  AS  CRITERION. 

We  saw  that  pleasure  as  feeling  could  not  be  ideal,  because 
every  ideal  is  present  as  thought,  not  as  feeling;  we  saw,  how- 
ever, that  the  ideal,  or  thought,  might  awaken  present  pleas- 
ure, and  so  the  question  arose  whether  this  present  pleasure 
might  not  be  impelling  motive.  We  were  obliged  to  deny  it> 
on  the  ground  that  mere  feeling  ends  in  itself,  or  has  no 
dynamic  power,  and  because  concrete  feeling,  as  actually 
experienced,  (a)  depends  upon  the  activity  already  going  on 
(instead  of  exciting  it),  and  (b)  is  colored  throughout  by  the 
character  of  the  end  or  idea  which  defines  the  activity.  We 
concluded,  then,  that  the  pleasure-pain  condition  is  not  motive; 
but  registers  the  interest  which  a  given  individual  takes  at  the 
given  time  in  a  given  act. 

This  brings  us  to  the  question  of  pleasure  as  criterion  or 
standard  of  the  worth  of  action.  Giving  uo  the  thought  that 
it  is  either  aim  or  motive,  have  we  not  arrived  at  the  concep- 
tion that  it  indicates,  registers,  reports  the  worth  of  action, 
and  is  thus  its  test  ?  In  the  following  sense,  yes.  The  satis- 
faction (interest)  which  a  given  individual  takes  in  an  act 
measures  the  worth  which  that  end,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  has  to 
him  at  that  particular  moment.  But  this  does  not  mean  that 
pleasure  or  pain  is  the  moral  criterion.  It  means  that  if  we 
know  the  kind  of  ends  and  acts  in  which  a  certain  agent  takes 
pleasure  (instead  of  passively  enjoying  it),  we  know  how  to 
estimate  his  moral  character.  If  he  rejoices  in  temperance,  he 
is  temperate;  if  he  grieves  at  it  as  an  enforced  thing,  or  as 
merely  useful  to  some  further  end,  he  is  still  partial  in  that 
virtue,  etc.  Pleasure  does  not  determine  the  worth  of  an  act, 
but  the  kind  of  act  which  affords  pleasure  determines  the 
worth  of  an  agent.  That  is,  ice  measure  the  worth  of  a  given 
experience  of  pain  or  pleasure  by  reference  to  a  standard  of 


-58- 

character,  by  reference   to  the  moving  ideal  which  calls  it 
forth* 

But  the  hedonist  himself  contends  that  it  is  not  the  pres- 
ent felt  pleasure  which  measures  the  value  of  the  act,  but  the 
results  of  the  act  in  the  way  of  pleasures  and  pains — an  act 
is  good  according  as  it  effects  a  net  balance  of  pleasure  over 
pain,  bad  when  painful  results  predominate  over  pleasures. 
It  is  this  doctrine  which  we  must  discuss.  We  note  that  it 
makes  a  break  between  criterion  and  ideal  and  motive.  Not 
the  same  pleasure,  or  pleasure  in  the  same  sense,  is  criterion 
that  (on  their  theory)  impels  to  action  or  that  is  the  desirable 
end.  (a)  The  motive  must,  be  present  and  individual;  the 
results  are  distant  and,  according  at  least  to  one  school  of 
hedonists,!  general,  consisting  in  pleasure  or  pain  to  all  men, 
or  to  all  sentient  creation,  (b)  According  to  the  hedonist,  no 
one  would  ever  aim  at  anything  but  pleasure,  but  the  act  may 
result  in  pain  as  well  as  in  pleasure,  may  bring  other  pleas- 
ures than  those  aimed  at,  or  may  bring  none  at  all.  If  the 
criterion  and  the  ideal  were  the  same,  every  act  whatsoever 
must  be  right — because  an  unadulterated  pleasure. 

I.  Thus  to  dissever  criterion  from  ideal  is  to  reduce 
moral  experience  to  a  chaos.  A  person  may  aim  at  any- 
thing whatsoever,  may  have  any  end  we  please  to  suggest 
and  the  character  of  that  end  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
the  morality  of  his  act.  The  whole  process  of  forming  inten- 
tions, of  defining  ideals,  of  discussing  aims,  has  absolutely  no 
moral  value.  It  is  true  that  Mill  (Util.,  p.  27,  note,  Eng.  Ed. ) 

*See  Plato,  Laws,  II.,  G53-4,  Aristotle,  Ethics,  Book  II.,  ch.  3; 
Laws,  II.,  659-61,  and  Aristotle,  Ethics,  Book  X.,  ch.  5.  I  am  not 
able  to  see  that  much  advance  has  since  been  made  as  to  the 
ethical  psychology  of  pleasure  and  pain.  The  artistic  sense  of  the 
Greek  who  understood  that  it  was  a  mark  alone  of  a  true  gentle- 
man to  know  how  to  take  (as  to  when,  where  and  how  much)  his 
pleasures  and  pains,  divined  the  truth. 

•fTermed  by  Sidgwick,  universalistic  hedonism,  as  distinct  from 
individualistic,  but  commonly  called  utilitarianism. 


—  59  — 

says  "the  morality  of  the  action  depends  entirely  upon  the 
intention,"  but  this  seems  a  complete  reversal  of  hedonism. 
It  proclaims  that  the  test  of  an  act  is  not  the  pleasures  and 
paius  which,  as  matter  of  fact,  result  from  it,  but  whether,  in 
doing  the  act,  the  agent  aims  at  bringing  pleasure  or  pain  to 
himself  and  others  (Mill  being  a  '  universal '  hedonist).  By 
no  conceivable  stretch  of  language  can  this  be  interpreted  as 
meaning  that  pleasure  is  the  test  of  morality;  it  makes  the 
.diameter  of  the  agent,  the  sort  of  result  he  aims  at,  the  kind 
of  end  that  moves  him,  the  criterion. 

Only  extended  quotation  can  show  how  typical  this 
reversal  is  of  all  modern  utilitarianism,  though  it  seems,  in 
the  main,  to  have  escaped  the  critics.  The  only  hedonistic 
view  is  that  which  measures  an  act,  after  it  has  been  per- 
formed, by  its  results  in  pleasures  and  pains.  Every  utilitar- 
ian has  substituted  a  criterion  for  the  formation  of  right 
ideals.  It  says  to  an  agent:  Before  you  act,  consider  as  thor- 
oughly as  possible  the  results  of  your  actions,  the  pains  and 
pleasures  that  are  likely  to  result  to  all  people  and  animals 
from  them;  then,  if  you  decide  upon  the  act  which  prom- 
ises to  bring  a  balance  of  pleasure,  your  act  is  right. 
See,  for  example,  the  "hedonistic  calculus"  as  explained  by 
Beutham,  Principles  (p.  16),  noting  such  expressions  in  the 
memoriter  verses  as  "sttc/t  pleasures  sec.k"  "such  pains 
avoid,"  which  clearly  indicate  that  he  is  setting  up  a  standard 
for  the  kind  of  ideals  at  which  men  ought  to  aim.  We  do 
not  here  need  to  discuss  this  criterion  of  morality;  whether 
correct  or  incorrect,  it  is  not  hedonistic.  It  measures  conduct 
not  by  pleasure  and  pain,  but  by  the  character  of  the  agent  as 
manifested  in  the  end  which  he  attempts  to  realize  or  bring 
into  being.  It  virtually  says  that  the  act  performed  by  an 
agent  in  a  spirit  of  benevolence  (denned  as  that  which  aims 
at  giving  pleasure  to  sentient  beings)  is  right.  The  utilitarian 
confuses  results  which  do  happen  with  foreseen  results  moving 
to  action.  Yet  if  he  does  not  make  this  confusion,  he  has  no 


—  60  — 

alternative  but  to  say  that  intention,  aim,  etc.,  have  nothing  to 
do  with  the  morality  of  an  act.  As  matter  of  fact,  our  criterion 
and  ideal  must  have  a  common  denominator:  the  worth  of  an 
act  must  be  measured  by  the  worth  of  its  intention,  or  the 
experiences  aimed  at. 

II.  Similar  confusion  results  from  the  divorce  of  criterion 
and  motive.  The  test  for  the  morality  of  the  agent  is  made 
one  thing,  and  the  test  for  the  act  another,  and  both  concep- 
tions contradict  the  view  -just  stated.  The  motive,  being 
pleasure,  is,  according  to  the  hedonist,  always  good.  (Ben- 
tham,  Principles,  p.  48. )  "A  motive  is  substantially  nothing 
more  than  pleasure  or  pain  operating  in  a  certain  manner. 
Now  pleasure  is  in  itself  a  good  ....  It  follows,  therefore, 
immediately  and  incontestably,  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
any  sort  of  motive  that  is  in  itself  a  bad  one.*  If  motives  are 
good  or  bad,  it  is  only  on  account  of  their  effects."  Here  the 
criterion  is  distinctly  stated  to  reside  in  the  effects  of  the  act. 
Hence  the  separation  of  the  morality  of  the  act  from  that  of 
an  agent.  The  agent,  as  expressed  in  motive,  may  be  '  good,' 
his  act  ;  bad,'  or  the  contrary.  Two  entirely  different  sets  of 
considerations  decide  the  respective  cases.  The  Tightness  of 
the  act  is  decided  by  its  actual  effects ;  of  the  agent  by  his  pre- 
dominating feelings. 

It  is  quite  true  that  other  systems  beside  the  hedonistic 
make  such  a  separation,  generally  under  the  names  of  the 
' formal'  and  'material'  Tightness  of  an  act.  (For  the  histor- 
ical  origin  of  this  distinction,  see  Sidgwick,  History,  p.  200;  its 
meanmg  to  those  who  accept  it  will  be  found  well  stated  in 
Bowne,  Principles  of  Ethics,  pp.  39-40.  The  best  assertion 

*It  would  seem  as  if  "pain  operating  in  a  certain  manner" 
ought  logically  to  be  bad.  But  if  Hentham  admitted  this,  being 
obliged  to  hold  also  that  pain  impels  away  from  further  evil,  he 
would  be  in  an  obvious  dilemma:  the  motive  would  be  at  once 
bad  and  good.  The  same  contradiction,  of  course,  is  involved  in 
holding,  at  one  and  the  same  time,  that  pleasure  as  motive  is 
good,  and  yet  that  motive  is  good  only  by  its  effects. 


-61  — 

known  to  me  of  the  doctrine  of  the  text  (the  identity  of  agent 
and  act)  is  found,  of  all  places,  in  Brown,  Philosophy  of  Mind, 
Vol.  III.,  p.  489  and  499-502.)  According  to  this  distinction, 
formal  Tightness  pertains  to  the  motive  of  the  agent;  it  is  his 
will  to  do  the  right.  But  with  the  best  will  in  the  world,  the 
agent  may  still  act  contrary  to  the  conditions  of  well-being, 
and  do  something  whose  consequences  are  evil  (materially 
wrong).  The  distinction  seems  to  avoid  a  real  difficulty  in 
our  judgment  of  conduct.  But  this  very  avoidance  is  the  chief 
objection  to  it.  It  restates  the  difficulty  in  generalized  form 
instead  of  solving  it.  It  introduces  a  fundamental  dualism 
into  mora?  experience  by  makirg  it  possible  for  a  good  man  to 
be  continually  doing  bad  acts,  and  for  a  bad  man  to  express 
himself  constantly  in  good  acts.  No  amount  of  criticism  can 
say  more  than  the  mere  statement  of  the  doctrine  says.  It 
tends  to  reduce  good  character  to  mere  sentimental  well-wish- 
ing in  general,  eliminating  the  objective  factor,  the  kind  of 
ends  aimed  at,  and  to  reduce  good  action  to  mere  conducive- 
ness  to  external  results,  eliminating  the  factor  of  self-refer- 
ence, of  spontaneous  vital  self-assertion. 

As  the  outcome,  we  are  left  with  no  working  criterion  for  acts. 
There  is  no  way  in  which  the  individual  can  convince  himself 
in  advance  of  the  right  thing  to  be  done.  The  pleasures  and 
pains  which  may  result  from  any  act  depend  so  much  upon 
circumstances  lying  outside  both  the  ken  and  the  character  of 
the  agent,  that  it  is  impossible  to  forsee  them,  or  to  get  any 
guidance  from  their  consideration.  If  we  already  have  a 
belief  that  certain  lines  of  action  are,  upon  the  whole,  right, 
we  may  act  in  the  faith  (never  with  the  proof)  that  such  lines 
of  conduct  will,  upon  the  whole,  result  in  more  pleasure  than 
pain;  but  if  we  are  dependent  upon  calculation  of  the  pain- 
ful and  pleasurable  consequences,  in  each  instance,  we  shall 
have  an  infinite  task.  On  the  reference  of  an  act  to  the  self, 
to  the  immediate  and  to  the  secondary  impulses,  there  is  a 
defining  principle,  sonieiinng  which  set  the  minimum  and 


—  62  — 

maximum  limits.  But  the  pleasures  and  pains  which  may  pro- 
ceed from  an  act  are  so  remote  from  the  intrinsic  nature  of  the 
act  that  there  are  no  assignable  values  in  the  problem;  it  is 
indeterminate  throughout.  A  wholly  consistent  hedonist 
would  be  in  the  position  of  one  having  the  "mania  of  doubt"  ; 
the  condition  of  an  agent  who  cannot  start  to  do  anything 
without  thinking  that  if  he  does  the  act,  this,  that  or  the  other 
painful  consequence  may  follow,  and  who,  consequently, 
passes  his  life  in  self-absorbed,  futile  worry.*  From  the 
standpoint  of  possible  consequences,  the  position  is  legitimate; 
however  improbable,  such  possibilities  cannot,  with  reference  to 
external  results,  be  disproved.  Only  the  force  of  inner  impulse 
and  the  demand  of  the  occasion,  the  power  of  self-assertion, 
carry  the  normal  individual  out  of  such  endless  reflections  into 
act.  The  limit  must  be  self-contained. 

Criticisms  upon  the  hedonistic  standard  will  be  found  in 
the  following  references,  some  of  which  duplicate  criti- 
cisms upon  the  subject  of  ideal  and  motive,  but,  so  far  as 
possible,  confined  to  the  subject  of  criterion:  Bradley, 
Studies,  Essay  3;  Green,  Proleg.,  pp.  233-255,  361-388  and 
399-415;  Martineau,  Types,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  308-334;  Leckey, 
History  of  European  Morals,  pp.  1-75;  Grote,  Examination  of 
the  Utilitarian  Philosophy:  Birks,  Utilitarianism,  chs.  1-4; 
Alexander,  Moral  Order,  pp.  204-211;  Murray,  Introduction, 
pp.  167-205;  Dewey,  Outlines,  pp.  31-51. 

SECTION  XXVIII. — THE  STANDARD  OF  HAPPINESS. 

In  spite  of  all  said  concerning  the  unworkable  character  of 
the  hedonistic  ideal,  motive  and  criterion,  there  is  little  doubt 
that,  in  its  modern  or  utilitarian  form,  it  has  been  the  chief 
theoretic  instrument  of  practical  reform.  Such  a  paradox 
demands  attention.  Its  explanation  is  found,  I  think,  in  the 
fact  that  while  nominally  the  utilitarian  has  been  insisting  upon 
happiness  as  an  ideal  and  standard,  really  he  has  been  engaged 

*See,  for  example,  Amer.  Journ.  Psy.,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  222  and  ff, 
especially  p.  238. 


—  63  — 

(i)  in  working  out  an  ideal  and  standard  of  happiness  of  a 
wide,  free  and,  often  lofty  nature;  (ii)  has  insisted  that  every 
individual,  without  respect  of  birth  or  accident  of  fortune, 
have  the  freest  chance  to  realize  this  happiness  for  himself, 
and  has,  (iii)  identified  happiness  with  general  welfare,  or 
common  good,  demanding  that  all  the  machinery  of  law  and 
education  be  employed  to  make  reference  to  the  general 
interest  a  controlling  motive  with  the  individual.  In  all  these 
respects,  utilitarianism  has  been  in  the  forefront  of  modern 
political  and  industrial  development.  But  none  of  these 
demands  is,  in  itself,  hedonistic;  indeed,  all  are  signs 
of  a  more  organic  view  of  the  individual  and  of  society 
than  is  logically  possible  to  hedonism.  It  is  the  advance 
beyond  hedonism  which  has  constituted  the  power  of  the  doc- 
trines, while  their  entanglement  in  the  individualistic  psychol- 
ogy of  the  18th  century  (which  gave  them  their  hedonistic 
character)  has,  in  so  far,  reduced  their  effectiveness.  A  brief 
sketch  of  the  development  of  modern  utilitarianism  will  at  once 
complete  our  criticism  by  showing  how  hedonism  has  abandoned 
its  own  ground  of  happiness  as  standard  and  has  set  up  a 
standard  for  happiness,  and  will  enable  the  criticism  to  take  a 
more  appreciative  attitude  toward  the  practical  spring  and 
worth  of  the  chief  modern  writers. 

In  Bentham  (1748-1832),  utilitarianism  was  made  the 
instrument  of  legal  reform  in  the  interest  of  the  whole  people 
and  a  weapon  of  attack  upon  class  interest.  Great  abuses  had 
deflected  law  and  its  administration  from  equal  regard  to  the 
community  interest,  and  made  of  it  a  device  by  which  a  few 
profited  at  the  expense  of  the  many.  The  abuses  were  pro- 
tected in  the  name  of  custom  and  precedent,  and  these,  in 
turn,  were  consecrated,  it  seemed  to  Bentham,  by  an  ethical 
philosophy  which  held  that  right  and  wrong  were  inherent 
characteristics  of  things,  without  regard  to  the  end  to  which 
they  contribute,  or  their  practical  serviceableness.  Now  as 
against  this  view,  Bentham  testified  that  every  idea  and  insti 


—  6-1  — 

tution  must  be  cross-questioned,  and  if  not  able  to  justify 
itself  by  showing  its  contribution  to  the  happiness  of  the  world, 
be  condemned  to  pass  out  of  existence.  Bentham  equally 
insisted  that  this  justifying  end  of  happiness  was  public  or 
common,  not  individual  or  belonging  to  a  class.  Hence  the 
two  war-cries  of  utilitarianism,  "  the  greatest  happiness  of  the 
greatest  number,"  and,  in  its  computation,  "  everyone  to  count 
for  one  and  for  only  one."  Here  we  have  the  standard,  which 
is,  in  practical  substance,  the  well-being  of  the  community  as 
a  whole,  with  equal-  and  impartial  reference  to  the  well  being 
of  each  member  of  the  community.  To  a  period  when  the 
democratic  spirit  was  rising  against  the  survivals,  finally 
become  useless,  of  an  aristocratic  civilization,  such  a  theory 
proved  a  most  useful  standard  and  rallying  point. 

In  such  a  standard,  there  is  nothing  of  necessity  hedonistic. 
Happiness  is  the  common  name  for  welfare,  well-being,  a  gen- 
erally satisfactory  condition  of  life.  It  conveys,  of  itself,  no 
suggestion  concerning  what  constitutes  happiness,  and  is  far 
enough  from  identifying  itself  with  the  hedonistic  notion  of  a 
series  of  states  of  agreeable  sensation. 

The  other  side  of  utilitarianism  developed  through  the 
need  political  reformers  have,  at  least  practically,  of  framing  a 
theory  of  motives.  Bentham  differed  from  earlier  utilitarians 
largely  in  his  appreciation  of  the  necessity  of  inducing  the 
individual  to  take  sufficient  interest  in  the  general  welfare  to 
direct  his  conduct  in  accordance  with  its  requirements.  Pain 
and  pleasure  seemed  to  him  just  the  instruments  needed. 
Especially  interested  in  criminal  procedure  and  prison  admin- 
istration, pain,  ih  the  form  of  punishment,  seemed  to  him  to 
have  great  possibilities  as  a  motive  power  when  brought  to 
bear,  under  the  direction  of  a  scientific  psychological  analysis, 
upon  the  individual.  On  the  other  'hand,  the  growth  of  com- 
mercial life,  as  reflected  in  current  political  economy,  had 
brought  to  consciousness  the  ties  of  interest  which  hold  men 
together  in  modern  society ;  it  had  revealed,  in  the  language  of 


—  65  — 

the  day,  how  far  the  self-interest  of  one  coincides  with  the  self- 
interest  of  others.  Here,  pleasure,  as  personal  profit,  seemed 
to  be  a  powerful  inducement  to  men  to  seek  the  common  wel- 
fare. 

As  happiness,  under  the  influence  of  the  dominant  individ- 
ualistic psychology,  was  translated  into  agreeable  sensation, 
so  social  interest,  under  the  same  influences,  was  interpreted 
as  sheer  personal  pains  and  pleasures,  abstracted  from  the  ob- 
jective conditions  which,  in  their  relation  to  the  activity  of  the 
individual,  really  determine  and  measure  them. 

James  Mill  (1773-1836),  who  had  a  knowledge  both  of  cur- 
rent psychology  and  current  political  economy  denied  to  Ben- 
tham,  completed  the  fusion  of  these  various  elements;  and 
bound,  seemingly  irretrievably,  the  new  standard  and  ideal  of 
industrial  democracy  to  the  analyses  of  an  individualistic 
psychology.  John  Stuart  Mill  (1806-1873),  his  son,  while 
continuing  the  tradition,  yet  even  more  than  Bentham  changed 
the  idea  of  happiness  as  a  standard  unto  a  standard  of  happi- 
ness, defining  it  still  nominally  as  agreeable  sensation,  but  in 
reality  in  terms  of  the  objective  conditions  which  determine  it. 

(A).  Bentham  and  James  Mill  had  dwelt  only  upon  the 
quantity  of  pleasure,  in  the  various  forms  of  its  intensity,  du- 
ration, fruitfulness  (as  to  further  pleasures)  and  purity  (or 
freedom  from  pain)*.  John  Stuart  Mill  insisted  that  the  quality 
of  pleasure  must  also  be  taken  into  account,  and  that  a  small 
amount  of  a  higher  quality  might,  or  should,  take 
precedence  of  a  much  larger  bulk  of  a  lower  quality. 
Now  differences  of  quality  in  pleasure  as  to  higher  and  lower 
evidently  imply  a  standard  of  measurement.  What  is  it? 
Mill  gives  (or  at  least  suggests)  two  answers:  (i)  The 
standard  is  the  preference  of  those  who  have  experienced  both^ 

*Criticisms  of  the  conception  of  greatest  sum  of  pleasures,  show- 
ing the  implied  presence  of  an  objective  standard,  will  be  found  in 
Green,  Proleg.,  pp.  235-240;  Alexander,  Moral  Order,  pp.  207-210; 
Watson,  Journal  of  Spec.  Philos.,  Vol.  10,  p.  271. 


—  66  — 

Now  of  this  it  may  be  said  that  such  preference  only  proves 
that  it  is  preferable  to  that  person  or  body  of  persons;  but, 
even  if  they  were  unanimous  in  their  judgment,  this  would  not 
mean  that  one  was  higher  for  me  unless  I  found  it  so.  But  a 
more  serious  objection  is  that  this  puts  the  standard  of  pleasure 
in  the  character  of  the  person  enjoying  it,  instead  of  making 
pleasure  the  standard  of  character,  and  thus  contradicts  hed- 
onism. This  aspect  comes  explicit  when  we  find  (ii)  Mill 
saying  that  a  "  sense  of  dignity,"  presumably  a  sense  of  the 
kind  of  pleasure  that  is  appropriate  to  a  human  being  to  enjoy, 
comes  in  to  decide  as  to  higher  and  lower.  (Mill,  Util.,  pp. 
309-313.) 

Now  when  we  define  a  higher  pleasure  as  that  (a)  which 
any  person,  or  (b)  a  person  of  higher  character,  prefers,  we 
have  obviously  referred  pleasure  to  that  in  the  person's  char- 
acter which  makes  it  preferable — we  have  an  objective  standard. 

B.  As  to  motive,  the  question  again  arises  how  an  individ- 
ual agent  may  be  induced  to  prefer  the  general  well  being  to 
his  own  private  profit.  The  previous  answer  had  been: 
through  the  influence  of  punishment,  of  reward,  of  education, 
etc. ,  setting  up  associations  in  the  mind  of  the  agent  between 
his  own  happiness  and  that  of  others.  Mill  saw  clearly  that 
an  identification  resting  only  upon  association  is  artificial, 
and  likely  to  dissolve  through  the  force  of  intellectual  analy- 
sis (which  happened  in  his  own  case,  leaving  him  with  a  feel- 
ing of  isolation.  Autobiog.,  p.  136),  and  that  there  must  be 
some  intrinsic  connection.  This  is  the  social  unity  of  man- 
kind; the  nature  of  the  individual  is  so  thoroughly  social  that 
he  cannot  conceive  himself  "  otherwise  than  as  a  member  of  a 
body."  He,  therefore,  comes  to  identify  happiness  with  har- 
mony with  his  fellows.  (Mill,  Util.,  343-47.)  Here  the 
social  value  of  the  individual  is  made  the  criterion  of  the 
moral  worth  of  happiness.  This  thoroughly  socialized  ideal 
of  happiness  is  the  most  characteristic  feature  of  Mill's 
ethics.  It  is  noble,  but  it  is  not  hedonism. 


—  67  — 

Spencer  marks  the  final  stage  in  the  transformation  of 
happiness  as  pleasurable  sensation  over  into  the  accompani- 
ment of  certain  objective  conditions.  As  John  Stuart  Mill  is 
signalized  by  recognition  of  the  dependence  of  pleasure  upon 
social  law  and  unity,  Spencer  is  signalized  by  recognition  of 
the  dependence  of  pleasure  upon  the  laws  not  of  society  alone, 
but  of  the  universe  which  conditions  the  life  of  society 
and  of  the  individual.  (See  his  criticisms  of  the  older  utili- 
tarianism, Data,  pp.  56-63,  with  which  compare  Stephen's 
-Science  of  Ethics,  353-379.) 

According  to  Spencer,  we  must  "deduce,  from  the  laws  of 
life  and  the  conditions  of  existence,  ichat  kinds  of  action 
necessarily  tend  to  produce  happiness."  And  to  derive  per- 
fect moral  laws,  we  must  postulate  the  case  of  a  "completely 
adapted  man  in  a  completely  evolved  society,"  denning,  there- 
fore, man  "in  terms  of  the  conditions  which  his  nature  ful- 
fills." (See  pp.  179,  275,  280  of  Data.)  Under  present  con- 
ditions, pleasure  is  not  an  adequate  test  of  morality;  we 
make  it  so  only  by  reference  to  the  thought  of  the  com- 
plete relation  of  individual  to  environment.  At  present,  pleas- 
ure and  Tightness  conflict  in  at  least  three  respects.  (1)  We 
have  to  do  things  through  sense  of  obligation  only,  with  con- 
straint, dislike  and  pain.  (2)  We  have  to  compromise,  and 
surrender  present  to  future  pleasure,  while  in  a  '  right '  state 
we  would  enjoy  both.  (3)  We  have  often  to  sacrifice  our  own 
pleasure  to  that  of  others.  (See  Dewey,  Outlines,  pp.  75-77 
and  references  there  given. ) 

Now  we  do  not  have  to  ask  concerning  the  adequacy  of 
Spencer's  analysis  here.  In  any  case,  it  is  all  but  the  most 
explicit  recognition  that  pleasure  is  not  of  itself  a  standard, 
but  that  certain  activities  and  conditions,  defined  in  objective 
terms,  measure,  or  are  a  standard  for;  pleasure. 

In  a  similar  manner,  Stephen  practically  sets  aside  happi- 
ness as  a  criterion,  and  substitutes  for  it  conduciveness  to  the 
•vitality  and  development  of  the  social  organism.  The  objec- 


—  68  — 

tive  conditions  have  finally  encroached  more  and  more  upon 
the  "agreeable  feeling,"  and  have  made  it  only  a  very  thin 
shell  upon  a  very  solid  core. 

Hoeffding,  Ethik,  compare  also  Monist,  Vol.  L,  p.  529,  on 
Principle  of  Welfare,  represents  the  best  contemporary  effort 
to  develop  utilitarianism  along  the  lines  of  John  Stuart  Mill, 
but  distinguishing  frankly  between  welfare  as  social  criterion, 
the  motive  which  actually  impels  the  individual,  and  the  peda- 
gogical problem  of  so  influencing  his  motives  as  to  make  him- 
interested  in  the  social  end.  Gizycki,  Manual  of  Ethical  Phil- 
osophy (trans,  by  Coit)  occupies  much  the  same  position,  but 
with  less  clear  and  thorough  analysis.  Compare,  Mind,  Vol. 
XL,  p.  324,  article  by  Coit  on  Ultimate  Moral  Aim,  and  Int. 
Jour.  Ethics,  Vol.  L,  p.  311,  by  Gizycki  on  Final  Moral  End. 
A  good  statement  of  the  best  side  of  utilitarianism  is  found  in 
the  last  named  Journal,  Vol.  III.,  p.  90,  by  Hodder. 
SECTION  XXIX. — STANDARD,  IDEAL  AND  MOTIVE. 

We  conclude  this  phase  of  the  subject  by  stating  what 
seems  to  be  the  true  relation  of  the  three.  At  first,  in  the  life 
of  the  child  and  of  the  race,  the  ideal  or  aim  is  comparatively 
particular — it  is  to  do  this  or  that  thing.  As  the  ideal  is 
formed  before,  and  with  reference,  to  a  given  act  so  the  criterion 
is  applied  to  a  given  act  after  it  has  been  performed.  The  act 
is  judged  at  first  by  its  outcome;  primitive  people  carry  this  to 
the  point,  of  making  no  distinction  between  intentional  and 
accidental  acts.  Even  inanimate  things,  axes,  trees,  as  well  as 
animals,  are  tried  and  condemned.*  At  this  stage,  intention 
or  ideal  is  also  undefined,  acts  resulting  from  custom  or 

*Curious  survivals  of  the  early  point  of  view  are  still  found  in 
the  procedure  of  admiralty  law,  relating  to  libelling  of  ships.  0.  W. 
Holmes,  Jr.,  Common  Law;  the  same  book  contains  a  careful  analy- 
sis of  the  legal  view  of  motive,  showing  that  law,  in  its  practice, 
identifies  motive  not  with  feeling,  but  with  foreseen  consequences 
as  inducing  to  action,  and  that  "  malice  "  is  inferred  wherever  the 
consequences  aimed  at  or  assumed  are  not  of  a  kind  a  standard 
character  would  aim  at. 


—  69  — 

instilled  habit  rather  than  from  tension  of  habit  and  intent. 
But  with  further  development,  there  is  recognized  the  need  of 
a  criterion  not  simply  for  acts  after  they  are  performed,  but 
for  the  process  of  forming  ends  and  purposes.  As  we  have 
seen,  the  utilitarian,  while  nominally  dealing  with  the  former, 
really  concerns  himself  with  the  latter.  Now  the  act  is  judged 
beforehand  as  well  as  afterward;  the  agent  asks  not  simply 
whether  the  act  is  good,  i.  e.,  satisfies  impulse,  but  also 
whether  it  is  right,  i.  e.,  whether  the  impulse  itself  meets  the 
requirements  of  a  certain  standard.  This  change  is  at  the 
same  time  obviously  a  change  in  the  character  of  the  ideal; 
the  ideal  is  no  longer  this  or  that  particular  act,  its  generality 
being  simply  in  the  unconscious,  underlying  habit,  but  is 
the  relation  of  this  or  that  act  to  a  more  general  aim.  The 
aim  becomes  comprehensive,  and  the  particular  act  simply  one 
form  which  the  permanent  aim  assumes. 

The  criterion  thus  comes  to  be  only  the  generalized  ideal, 
while  the  ideal  is  a  specific  definition  of  the  more  general 
standard.  They  are  related  as  a  foot-rule  in  the  abstract,  and 
this  rule  translated  into  the  defined  length  of  some  portion  of 
space.  The  original  mediation  of  impulse  is  through  the 
special  consequences  related  to  that  special  impulse.  But  as 
consequences  develop,  it  is  seen  that  they  are  not  one  lot  of  ex- 
perience isolated  from  the  whole  system.  It  is  seen  that  the 
consequence  chief  in  importance  is  that  upon  the  agent's  own 
habits  of  action,  his  capacities,  tastes,  attitude  toward  life, 
ways  of  forming  ends,  etc. ;  in  short,  the  consequence  is  the 
mediation,  not  of  this  or  that  impulse,  but  of  the  entire  actual 
self.  The  mediation  of  the  particular  impulse  has  mean- 
ing only  in  relation  to  the  placing  or  function  of  that  impulse 
in  the  system  of  activity.  The  generic  standard  and  ultimate 
aim — expression  of  self — are  thus  one.  (See  Sec.  XIII.)  The 
act  is  the  subject;  but  what  the  act  is — the  predicate — is 
known  only  by  placing  the  act,  in  its  obvious  features,  in  its 
right  position  in  the  whole  activity.  If  we  look  at  this  whole 


-70  — 

activity  as  that  which  the  agent  is  urging  towards  in  every 
'act,'  it  is  Ideal;  if  we  look  at  it  as  really  deciding  the  nature 
and  value  of  the  'act,  'it  is  Criterion. 

The  practical  application  of  this  conception  of  criterion 
may  be  briefly  stated.  (1).  Such  a  criterion  is  workable. 
The  individual  always  has  his  criterion  with  him,  because  it  is 
himself.  It  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  thought  of  the 
consequences  of  the  act  with  reference  to  his  own  efficiency  as 
an  agent  in  the  scene  in  which  he  participates.  The  formula- 
tion here  is  abstract;  it  must  be,  because  it  is  not  a  criterion 
for  action  at  large,  but  a  criterion  for  some  agent,  this  or  that  or 
the  other  particular  individual,  with  his  own  experiences  and 
part  to  play.  Just  because  it  is  so  absolutely  concrete  for  him, 
the  criterion  can  be  stated  at  large  only  in  abstract  terms. 
The  criterion  and  its  application  both  exist  in  terms  of  the  in- 
dividual's own  moral  life;  it  is  always  putting  two  and  two 
together;  doing  the  best  possible  with  the  material  avail- 
able. Its  terms  are  the  given  impulse  and  its  bearing  in  the 
agent's  own  life;  it  is  simply  a  complete  view,  or  judgment,  of 
the  intrinsic  nature  of  the  act.  Only  a  criterion  which  does  lie 
within  the  range  of  the  self  is  workable;  an  outside  criterion, 
just  in  the  degree  of  its  externality,  will  never  translate  into 
terms  of  the  individual's  own  needs  and  powers;  it  will  uot 
connect.  The  hedonistic  criterion  of  consequences  in  the  way 
of  pleasure  and  pain  has  no  intimate  intrinsic  connection  with 
the  individual's  own  habits  and  aims,  and  while  the  rational- 
istic criterion  is  the  self  in  name,  it  is  only  in  name.  The  self 
is  a  blank  all-engulfing  whole  which  does  not  define  itself 
in  terms  of  definite  experience. 

(2).  Such  a  criterion  is  absolute,  yet  relative.  It  is  per- 
manent, yet  flexible.  It  is  absolute  in  the  sense  of  containing 
•all  its  conditions  and  terms  within  itself,  it  is  self  as  a  liv- 
ing actuality.  It  is  relative,  in  that  it  is  not  an  abstract  rule 
excluding  all  difference  of  circumstance,  but  applies  to  the 
iconcrete  relations  of  the  case.  It  is  permanent  or  identical, 


—  71  — 

•because  self  is  one  in  its  life  and  movement;  but  flexible 
and  variable  since  the  self  is  one  in  and  through  activity  and 
not  by  its  mere  static  subsistence. 

(3).  Such  a  criterion  excludes  all  taint  of  casuistry 
and  Pharisaism.  In  any  standard  save  the  efficiency,  .  -o 
the  expression,  of  the  agent  herself,  the  criterion  is  VT 
one  thing,  its  application  another.  The  standard  is  a 
rigid  something,  external  to  that  to  which  it  is  applied. 
As  a  result,  questions  always  arise  as  to  rules  of  application,  as 
to  possible  exceptions,  as  to  variation  according  to  circum- 
stance. The  fatal  weakness  of  encouraging  the  agent  to  con- 
sider how  far  the  rule  may  or  may  not  apply  to  this  special 
case  comes  in.  With  complete,  or  organic,  mediation  as  criter- 
ion, the  case  and  the  standard  are  really  one;  it  is  always  a 
question  of  what  the  case  really  is,  when  looked  at  not  par- 
tially, but  in  the  light  of  the  agent  as  a  concrete,  effective 
agent  in  his  vital  relationships.  Moreover,  fixed,  external  cri- 
terion encourages  fixity  of  condemnation.  A  man  is  condemned 
because  he  does  not  come  up  to  this  abstract  standard,  entirely 
independently  of  his  own  instinctive  tendencies,  and  his  own 
situation.  Only  when  the  criterion  is  defined  as  we  have  above 
defined  it,  can  we  judge  the  agent  on  his  own  ground  accord- 
ing to  the  meaning  the  act  has  for  him.  The  external  stand- 
ard means  always  a  false  complacency,  a  fixed  self-congratula- 
tion whenever  we  conform  to  the  rule.  A  criterion  which  is 
nothing  but  the  act  completely  viewed  imposes  action  by  its 
very  nature;  it  leaves  no  time  nor  opportunity  for  self -directed 
complacency.  The  joy  is  in  the  action,  not  in  the  thought  of 
the  self  as  good  enough  to  do  it.  Such  a  criterion,  finally, 
requires  acute  and  objective  examination  of  the  conditions  of 
action,  as  the  external  criterion  demands  continued  subjective 
introspection  to  see  how  far  along  we  have  got.  The  latter 
makes  the  agent  keep  his  eye  on  his  subjective  attitude  towards 
action,  instead  of  simply  finding  his  attitude  in  the  act. 

So  much  for  the  connection  between  ideal  and  criterion, 


—  72  — 

and  the  identity  of  each  with  the  act  organically  viewed,  or 
referred  to  self  as  self.  How  as  to  motive  ?  That  again  names 
the  organic  act  from  a  certain  side — the  side  of  the  interest  as 
the  act  because  expressing  the  self.  It  names  the  extent 
to  which  the  ideal  and  criterion  are  such  in  deed,  and  not  in 
name:  the  extent,  that  is,  to  which  they  are  one  with  action. 
An  ideal  which  does  not  move  is  no  part  of  the  self  and  hence 
not  an  ideal,  or  guide  to  action.  A  criterion  which  is  not  an 
application  of  character,  an  individualized,  habitual  view  of 
considering  conduct,  is  mere  knowledge  that  other  persons 
think  well  of  an  act;  it  is  second  handed  information.  A 
man's  ways  of  judging  acts — his  standard — are  just  as  much  a 
part  of  himself  as  are  the  performance  of  the  acts.  The  judg- 
ing is  one  way  of  acting.  The  real  criterion  is  the  way  of 
estimating  action;  the  value  which  the  self  puts  upon  it,  the 
interest  it  takes — i.  a,  motive. 

We  have  now  finished  our  study  of  approbation,  or  the  con- 
scious value  attached  to  action,  on  the  sides  both  of  the  good 
(ideal)  and  its  standard.  We  have  seen  that  action  is  itself 
the  process  of  measuring  and  defining  goods,  and  that  ideal 
and  standard  both  come  into  existence  as  phases  of  action. 
We  have  seen  that  conscious  action  is  the  process  of  appro- 
bation involving  the  development  of  a  general  standard  of 
reference  and  its  translation  into  definite  terms.  In  all  this  it 
is  implied  that  the  act  measures  the  agent,  and  that  the  act 
tests  the  standard  as  well  as  the  standard  the  act.  It  is  this 
implication  to  which  we  now  pass. 


—  73  — 

CHAPTER  V. 

SECTION  XXX.     REFLECTIVE  APPROBATION,  OB  CONSCIENCE. 

The  identity  of  agent  and  act  has  been  our  guiding  prin- 
ciple. Because  of  this  identity,  we  have  insisted  that  impulse, 
ideal,  motive  and  standard,  all  express  various  phases  of  char- 
acter. But  so  far  we  have  overtly  considered  this  identity 
only  on  the  side  of  the  passing  forth  of  the  agent  into  act, 
showing  that  the  act  is  the  conclusion  of  the  process  of  esti- 
mating value  entered  upon  whenever  any  impulse  is  referred 
to  its  probable  consequences.  This  also  means,  as  just  said, 
that  the  act  in  manifesting  character,  reveals  it — makes  it  a 
subject  of  judgment.  This  reaction  of  a  deed  back  into  the 
estimation  of  character,  the  reflective  weighing  of  character 
and  motive  in  the  light  of  the  acts  which  express  it,  constitutes 
conscience.  We  measure  the  act  by  our  controlling  standard — 
direct  approbation;  we  must  equally  measure  our  standard  by 
the  act  as  seen  in  its  expression — reflective  approbation  and 
reprobation,  with  the  involved  ideas  of  merit  and  guilt. 

The  act  from  the  standpoint  of  intention,  that  is  the  act 
in  consciousness  before  performance,  is  an  abstraction.  The 
act  as  done,  the  deed  with  its  import  brought  home,  the  act 
in  consciousness  completed,  is  concrete  or  individual.  The 
abstraction,  in  intention,  comes  from  the  fact  that  charac- 
ter, the  organized  habits,  the  relatively  permanent  ideas, 
are  taken  for  granted.  The  agent  is  consciously  concerned 
only  with  the  objective  conditions  under  which  the  permanent > 
assumed  ends  take  their  particular  shape.  A  man  will  meas- 
ure land  well  only  when  he  keeps  his  thought  concentrated 
upon  that  one  fact  of  measuring,  abstracting  both  from  his 
larger  end  (selling  it,  building  a  house,  etc.),  and  from  his 
largest  end — self-expression.  But  this  act  done,  its  meaning 
in  terms  of  his  own  life,  as  realized  self,  must  to  some  degree, 
appear.  Before,  the  act  was  defined,  or  measured,  in  terms  of 
the  objective  conditions  involved  in  its  performance;  now,  it  is 


—  74  — 

measured,  or  appreciated,  in  terms  of  its  significance  for  the 
self,  one's  own  individuality.  It  is  this  fuller  value,  in  its  rela- 
tion to  the  partial  value,  that  constitutes  conscience..  It  is 
the  return  of  the  ideal,  the  motive,  the  standard,  back  out  of 
its  abstraction  into  terms  of  character,  of  living  self.  We  have 
first  to  notice  the  different  sense  which  attaches  to  this  return 
in  the  cases  of  the  good  and  the  bad  act  respectively. 

The  good  man's  ideal  is  the  next  thing  to  be  done,  the 
step  which  requires  taking.  But  in  so  far  as  the  agent  is  good, 
the  act,  no  matter  how  specific,  utters  his  whole  self.  The 
definite  act  and  the  generic  end  are  one.  It  harmonizes  his 
powers,  reducing  his  impulses,  both  primary  and  induced,  to 
unity,  His  whole  self  being  in  the  act,  the  deed  is  solid  and 
substantial,  no  matter  how  trivial  the  outer  occasion.  As 
Aristotle  says  (Ethics,  Bk.  I.,  ch.  x.,  12),  the  nobility  of  the 
good  man  shines  through  ignoble  circumstance.  The  good 
man  always  builds  better  than  he  knows.  Furthermore,  the 
very  aim  of  the  good  man  is  itself  a  unification  in  thought,  as 
the  deed  is  in  act,  of  the  realities  of  the  situation.  ( See  Sec. 
VI.)  His  intent  lines  up,  focuses  the  demands  of  life.  In 
doing  the  deed,  then,  the  universe  of  Reality  moves  through 
him  as  its  conscious  organ.  Hence  the  sense  of  the  dignity 
and  validity  of  the  act — the  essence  of  the  religious  conscious- 
ness. Hence  the  joy,  the  feeling  of  full  life,  and  the  peace, 
the  feelipg  of  harmonized  force,  which  accompany  the  good 
act.  The  "moral  sense,"  on  the  part  of  the  good  man,  is  this 
realization  of  himself  in  his  deed,  the  consciousness  of  the 
deed  in  its  organic  significance. 

The  moral  consciousness  is  thus  one  with  the  consciousness 
of  the  act.  The  joy  is  in  the  act  itself,  not  in  the  goodness  of 
the  agent  as  distinct  from  the  act;  the  peace  is  found  in  doing 
the  deed;  it  is  not  an  end  to  be  reached  by  the  deed  as  a 
means.  The  moral  consciousness  is  not  a  distinct  thing,  apart 
from  the  act:  it  is  the  act  realized  in  its  full  meaning.  We 
instinctively  recognize  that  there  is  something  unhealthy  in 


—  75  — 

over-conscious  morality.  There  is  a  Pharisaic  paradox,  as 
well  as  a  hedonistic  one.  As  pleasure  can  be  got  only  by  aim- 
ing at  something  else,  so  the  consciousness  of  moral  worth, 
the  sense  of  right  doing,  can  be  had  only  when  it  is  not  sought 
for.  And  there  is  a  necessary  reason  for  this:  the  conscious- 
ness of  goodness  is  the  consciousness  of  a  completely  unified 
self.  If  the  agent  is  thinking  of  his  own  glory,  or  credit,  or 
moral  worth,  or  improvement,  he  is,  by  that  fact,  divided; 
there  is  the  deed  to  be  performed,  and  the  reflex  of  it  into 
himself.  In  so  far  as  the  latter  is  the  real  motive  for  action, 
the  interest  is  not  in  the  act  as  self  (or  in  the  acting  self),  but 
in  the  act  as  means  to  a  state  of  enjoyment  (in  the  mere  get- 
ting a  certain  experience).  Attention  to  the  act  is,  of  neces- 
sity, partial,  for  it  does  not  absorb  interest.  Hence  the 
moral  emotion  which  is  the  internalizing  of  complete  activity, 
or  attention,  is  missed. 

Mackenzie  (Manual,  p.  164)  takes  the  ground  that  conscience 
refers  only  to  wrong  doing;  that  good  action  is  unconscious  of 
itself.  That  there  is  no  separate  consciousness  of  good  action  fol- 
lows, indeed,  from  the  above.  But  when  Mackenzie  says  (p.  338,  sec. 
ed.)  that  there  is  probably  no  pleasure  of  conscience  proper,  since 
(i)  the  moral  ideal  can  hardly  be  attained,  and  (ii)  "if  any  individual 
did  attain  it,  he  would  attain  it  only  by  a  devotion  to  objective  ends, 
which  would  exclude  the  possibility  of  any  feeling  of  self-satisfac- 
tion," he  seems  to  me  to  make  the  moral  life  absolutely  meaning- 
less, (i)  The  first  assertion  sets  up  our  old  friend,  the  '  abstract 
ideal '  (Sec.  XXI.),  not  a  working  ideal,  and  brings  out  a  further 
objection  to  it.  The  continual  non-attainment  must  mean  contin- 
ual dissatisfaction.  Healthy  interest  in  work  for  its  own  sake,  the 
only  genuine  and  self -persisting  form  of  morality,  is  rendered  impos- 
sible. Instead,  we  must  have  an  anxious  craving  for  a  remote 
future  and  a  restless  irritation  with  the  present.  (Humility  means 
not  that  what  we  have  done  is  worthless,  but  that  its  present  worth 
is  the  use  we  can  make  of  it;  humility  is  willingness  to  throw  the 
past  achievement  into  the  stream  of  life,  instead  of  clinging  to  it  as 
a  life  preserver.  And  so  aspiration  is  not  a  striving  for  a  vaguely 
higher  ideal,  but  the  tense  muscle,  the  full  interest  in  the  present 
deed.  It  is  humility  on  its  positive  side,  or  utilized  for  the  future.) 
>{ii)  The  second  assertion  brings  out  the  contradiction  in  the  doctrine 


-76  — 

of  self-realization  when  self  is  conceived  as  remote,  or  is  presup- 
posed as  in  any  way  existing  outside  the  definite  act.  There  is  no 
alternative  apparently  save  choice  of  a  self-satisfaction  which 
is  exclusive  and,  really,  hedonistic,  or  a  devotion  to  objective  ends 
which  does  not  mean  self-satisfaction— in  reality,  asceticism  or  self- 
sacrifice.  All  this,  because  it  is  not  seen  that  devotion  to  objective 
ends  (i.  e.,  the  mediation  of  impulse)  is  self-satisfaction.  No  theory 
which  sets  up  a  self  at  large  can  recognize  that  the  only  satisfaction 
which  really  satisfies  is  the  interest,  the  value  of  the  act  itself. 
Only  a  doctrine  which  sees  self  to  be  specific,  defined  activity  can 
admit  the  consciousness  of  satisfaction,  or  good,  as  a  normal  fact, 
and  yet  not  set  it  up  as  a  separate  (and  therefore  hedonistic)  aim. 
To  it,  there  is  no  self  save  in  the  conscious  act;  no  consciousness  of 
satisfaction  save  the  interest,  the  value,  of  the  act  itself. 

This  disposes  of  the  "disguised  selfishness"  theory  con- 
cerning virtue,  the  argument  that  the  good  man  gets  his  sat- 
isfaction out  of  the  good  act  as  much  as  the  bad  man  out  of 
the  evil  act.  Of  course  he  does,  and  more.  But  it  is  a  mis- 
understanding, already  dealt  with,  to  suppose  this  means  that 
he  does  the  act  for  his  satisfaction;  he  does  it  as  his  satisfac- 
tion. What  makes  him  a  good  man  is  precisely  the  fact  that 
such  acts  are  his  interest,  his  satisfaction.  In  the  good  man, 
the  act  measures  or  exhibits  the  interest;  the  self  is  only  in 
the  moving  act ;  in  the  bad  man,  the  act  is  done  for  the  sake 
of  a  self,  an  interest,  outside  the  act;  it  is  measured  by  a 
fixed  self.  (A  good  ethical  statement  here  is  Mackenzie, 
Manual,  App.  B,  IV. ;  a  good  psychological  statement,  Jamesr 
Psy.,  Vol.  L,  ch.  10.) 

SECTION  XXXI. — MOEAL  CONDEMNATION. 

The  recognition  that  an  act  is  evil  (moral  condemnation  or 
consciousness  of  guilt)  takes  quite  a  different  form,  though 
based  on  the  same  principle.  Were  all  our  acts  approved,  we 
should  have  no  moral  consciousness  distinct  in  any  way  from 
our  consciousness  of  action ;  but  reprobation  means  a  distinct,  - 
a  reflex,  consciousness.  We  are  morally  glad  in,  not  for,  our 
deed;  but  we  are  sorry  for  it.  The  condemning  judgment  is 
one  which  stands,  in  a  sense,  outside  of  the  act  as  well  as 


—  77  — 

within  it.  It  holds  the  act  out;  looks  back  upon  it,  and  feels 
its  unworthiness  as  measured  by  a  standard  self,  up  to  which 
the  act  has  not  come.  This  consciousness  of  division,  of  act 
and  self,  value  and  standard,  is  the  very  essence  of  the 
troubled  conscience.  Yet,  in  principle,  the  consciousness  of 
evil  is  the  same  as  consciousness  of  good;  i.  e',  it  is  the  real- 
ization of  an  act  in  its  full  meaning,  as  brought  out  through 
doing  the  deed.  But  the  meaning  of  the  bad  act  is  division; 
the  agent  has  intended  an  unreality;  his  aim,  his  ideal,  has 
been  severed  from  the  conditions  of  the  situation,  from  the 
realities  of  the  universe;  he  has  set  up  a  merely  subjective 
end,  and  thus  isolated  himself.  In  so  far  as  the  performance 
of  the  act  reveals  the  true  nature  of  the  act,  there  is  recoil, 
rebound;  the  deed  kicks.  The  agent  feels  his  separation. 
The  dissatisfaction  of  the  act  performed  reveals  the  unreality, 
the  split  of  self. 

Hence  the  peculiar  dualism  in  all  remorse.  The  agent  at 
once  feels  the  extremest  repugnance  at  the  very  thought  of  the 
act,  would  repel  it  as  far  from  himself  as  possible,  and  yet 
feels  that  that  act  was  his  very  self — knows,  indeed,  that  he 
feels  this  repulsion  just  because  the  act  was  himself.  As  his, 
the  act  holds  him,  fascinates  him,  perhaps  to  the  point  of 
morbidness;  literature  is  filled  with  accounts  of  this  binding, 
gnawing,  insistent  character  of  evil  done.  As  not  truly  him- 
self, because  unreal  and  false  in  its  very  nature,  the  agent  is 
repelled,  he  attempts  to  thrust  out  the  memory,  to  drown 
remorse,  and  deaden  conscience;  to  have  "the  damned  spot 
out."  The  contradiction  of  these  two  sides  of  remorse  marks 
the  emergence  in  consciousness  of  the  contradiction  in  the  act 
itself.  No  one  intends  an  act  save  as  good;  but  the  completed 
act  stands  forth  as  most  thoroughly  not  good. 

The  moral  condemnation,  in  other  words,  is  directed  essen- 
tially at  the  ideal  and  standard  of  the  act.  Not  because  the 
agent  consciously  aimed  at  evil  does  he  have  the  guilty  con- 
science, but  because  the  good  (ideal)  aimed  at  was  of  such  a. 


—  78  — 

kind  as  to  show  a  character  which  takes  for  good  that  which 
in  the  light  of  enlarged  character  is  seen  as  evil.  Again, 
guilt  is  imputed  not  because  the  agent  already  had  a  standard 
of  good  and  then  fell  short  of  it.  On  the  contrary,  the 
remorse  is,  for  the  first  time,  the  experience  of  shortcoming. 
The  guilt  is  imputed  because  it  reveals  the  previous  standard 
of  good.  How  unworthy  my  character  must  have  been,  how 
defective  myself  to  have  such  a  conception  of  value!  The  evil 
was  radical,  not  simply  in  the  act;  it  was  in  the  way  the  self 
determined,  or  measured  good,  in  the  way  it  set  up  ends  as 
approved.  Prior  to  the  act,  the  agent  measures  by  his 
existing  standard  of  good,  and  does  the  deed  as  good;  after- 
ward, the  deed,  in  its  full  content,  reveals  his  own  character, 
and  thus  measures  the  standard. 

It  is  implied  that  the  very  condemnation,  the  conscious- 
ness of  evil,  means  the  consciousness  of  a  new  standard 
of  a  higher  good.  If  the  agent  is  still  on  the  same  level  as 
that  in  which  he  performed  the  act,  no  compunctions  arise. 
The  act  is  still  good  to  him,  and  he  is  still  good  as  exhibited 
in  that  act.  Only  because  the  bad  act  brings  to  light  a  new 
good  is  its  own  badness  manifested.  The  reaction  of  the  deed 
into  character,  in  other  words,  brings  that  character  to  con- 
sciousness; it  shows  character  its  own  powers  and  require- 
ments, and  thus  enables  it  to  pass  judgment  upon,  i.  e.,  to 
appreciate,  its  own  unworthiness.  Moral  condemnation,  in 
fine,  if  really  moral,  if  itself  approvable,  is  of  itself  always 
repentance  or  the  beginning  of  better  things.  Only  because 
'io  some  extent  the  self  is  moving  more  organically  does  it 
realize  the  disorganic  character  of  its  past  efforts.  Only  the 
man  becoming  good  recognizes  evil  as  evil. 

From  this  appears  the  duty  of  the  agent  with  reference  to 
Iris  experiences  of  guilt,  or  unworthiness.  It  is  not  to  experi- 
ence them  for  themselves,  but  to  get  their  reaction  into  char- 
acter. One  is  to  dwell  on  his  mistakes  and  shortcomings  just 
enough  to  get  the  meaning,  the  instruction,  the  mediation  of 


—  79  — 

impulse  and  habit,  which  is  in  them.  The  more  the  attention 
is  turned  upon  the  bad  act  in  itself,  the  more  that  act  becomes 
a  fixed,  external  thing,  a  finality;  the  dwelling  upon  the  fact 
that  one  has  done  a  bad  act  is  positively  demoralizing  save  as 
one  gets  from  it  correction  and  stimulus  for  the  future.  It 
simply  widens  the  very  division,  hardens  the  very  isolation, 
which  is  the  badness,  while  the  true  function  of  consciousness 
of  division  is  to  enable  one  to  heal  the  gap.  In  other  words, 
one  has  the  same  duty  regarding  his  experiences  of  guilt  that 
he  has  regarding  every  other  experience,  viz.,  to  use  them,  to 
make  them  functional  in  activity,  instead  of  merely  experi- 
encing them.*  It  is  a  common  fallacy  to  suppose  that  the 
mere  experiencing  of  painful  consequences  from  bad  action 
has  of  itself  any  remedial  power.  As  we  noted  (Sec.  XXIV), 
pleasures  do  not  mean  satisfaction;  here  we  note  that  pains  do 
not,  of  necessity,  mean  dissatisfaction.  The  "wicked'' man 
may  experience  an  indefinite  mass  of  pain  from  his  badness, 
and  yet  get  none  the  better  for  it,  if  it  is  not  reflected  back  into 
his  character,  is  not  used  as  a  standpoint  whence  to  measure 
his  previous  standard  of  good.  And  the  professionally  "good" 
man  may  get  nothing  out  of  his  compunctions,  his  pangs  of 
conscience.  He  may  even,  as  a  dilettanter,  come  to  °njoy 
them,  relishing  them  as  indications  of  his  sensitive  moral 
nature.  This  happens  when  he  isolates  them,  instead  of 
using  them  as  symptoms  by  which  to  locate,  and  correct,  his 
unworthiness  of  character. 

If  the  foregoing  is  correct,  then  ethical  writers  have  tended 
immensely  to  exaggerate  the  distinction  between  regret  and 
remorse,  in  holding  that  the  former  applies  simply  to  conse- 

*The  doctrine  of  '  salvation  by  grace,'  as  expressed  in  the  writ- 
ings of  St.  Paul,  with  the  immense  meaning  attached  to  it,  seems 
to  have  for  its  ethical  content  the  first  historical  consciousness,  on 
the  part  of  humanity,  that  sin,  when  it  becomes  a  consciousness  of 
sin  organically  referred  back  to  character,  means  also  a  conscious- 
ness of  a  good  which  can  take  that  evil  up  into  itself  and  so  con- 
quer it,  which,  in  fact,  has  already  begun  so  to  do. 


-80  — 

quences,  having  no  moral  meaning,  while  the  latter  refers  to 
motive  and  is  essentially  moral.  The  true  difference  is  simply 
one  of  perspective,  of  proportion;  both  relate  to  a  reaction  of 
consequences  into  motive  as  used  to  guide  the  latter.  It  is 
regret  when  duty  demands  that  we  do  not  dwell  much 
upon  the  past  bad  act ;  when  we  can  get  the  good  of  it  without 
much  reflection  upon  the  unworthiness  of  a  character  which 
could  assume  such  consequences.  It  is  remorse  (normal,  not 
morbid)  when  in  order  to  get  the  change  of  attitude  for  the 
future,  it  is  necessary  to  realize,  more  radically,  how  unworthy 
was  the  self  displayed  in  an  act  of  such  consequences.  Regret 
and  remorse  stand  on  the  same  basis  so  far  as  the  implication 
of  character  is  concerned.  One  no  more  regrets  the  death  of 
a  friend,  caused  by  himself  without  shadow  of  intent  or  care- 
lessness, than  he  regrets  the  earthquake  of  Lisbon.  He  may, 
do  infinitely  more  than  regret  it;  he  may  be  stunned  and 
haunted  by  it;  but  'regret'  is  as  futile  in  one  case  as  in  the 
other. 

It  is  impossible  to  give  many  references  to  distinctly  ethical 
writers  in  agreement  with  the  foregoing  position.  It  is  the  view,  in 
substance,  of  Emerson,  expressed  perhaps  most  definitely  in  his 
Essay  on  Compensation.  The  view  regarding  the  essential  defect 
of  the  Puritanic  morality,  viz.,  that  it  aimed  at  the  moral  conscious- 
ness by  itself,  has  been  very  forcibly  expressed  in  the  various  writ- 
ings of  James  Hinton,  and  of  William  James,  !Sr. 

SECTION  XXXII. — VARIOUS  ASPECTS  OF  CONSCIENCE. 

Conscience,  as  used  in  common  speech,  is  a  term  as  wide 
as  the  entire  moral  consciousness  of  man.  It  is  absurd, 
accordingly,  for  theory  to  attempt  to  narrow  the  word  to  some 
technical  or  special  meaning.  But  common  speech  indicates 
by  the  word,  at  different  times,  certain  typical  phases  of  the 
moral  consciousness,  and  theory  may  follow  with  a  description 
of  these  typical  phases. 

1.  We  hear  of  a  tender,  a  hardened  conscience,  the  pangs, 
pricks,  compunctions,  pains  and  joys  of  conscience.  This  evi- 
dently refers  to  conscience  as  an  emotional  fact;  the  interest 


—  81  — 

of  the  act  as  brought  home  to  the  agent  in  terms  of  his  own 
feelings. 

2.  We  hear  of  the  voice  of  conscience,  conscience  telling  us 
to  do  this  and  that,  of  an  enlightened  conscience,  of  educating 
conscience,  etc.     Here  we  are  thinking  of  the  intellectual  con- 
tent of  the  moral  consciousness;  moral  judgments  as  a  system 
of  truth,  of  ideals  and  standards. 

3.  We  also  hear  of  the  commands  of  conscience,  of   its 
majesty,    its    inviolability,    that    aspect    which    Kant    terms 
"categorical     imperative."     Here    is    clearly    indicated    the 
authoritativeness  of  any  act  recognized  as  moral. 

SECTION  XXXIII. — CONSCIENCE  AS  THE  MOEAL  SENTIMENTS. 

The  intellectual  aspect  of  conscience  is  most  conveniently 
discussed  in  connection  with  the  question  of  intuitionalism 
and  empiricism ;  that  of  the  authority  of  conscience  in  connec- 
tion with  obligation. 

Concerning  the  emotional  side  of  conscience,  it  is  hardly 
necessary  to  do  more  than  gather  together  the  scattered 
threads  of  what  has  already  been  said.  The  purport  of  the 
theory,  as  already  developed,  is  that  the  valuation  of  an  act 
assumes  an  objective  and  a  subjective  form.  The  objective  is 
the  analysis  of  the  act  into  its  various  conditions,  its  definition 
or  limitation — the  ideal,  intention,  etc.  The  subjective  is  the 
feeling  excited  in  the  individual,  by  either  the  contemplation 
of  the  act  in  thought  or  by  its  actual  execution  in  deed.  The 
thought,  the  intention,  is  not  colorless;  it  represents  a  projec- 
tion of  the  self,  and  the  moral  emotion  is  simply  the  realiza- 
tion by  an  individual  of  the  value  "of  the  projected  act  for  him- 
self as  an  individual.  The  thought  of  every  act  must  have, 
therefore,  its  own  peculiar,  qualitative,  emotional  accompani- 
ment. We  are  somehow  affected  towards  every  plan.  Hope, 
fear,  disgust,  tedium,  love,  hate,  etc.,  etc.,  so  far  as  excited  not 
directly  by  some  object,  but  the  thought  of  an  object  as  an  end 
to  be  reached  (so  far  as  mediated  by  ideas  of  acts)  are  thus  all 
forms  of  moral  consciousness,  on  the  emotional  side.  Such 


—  82  — 

feelings  are  evidently  no  adequate  criterion  of  the  act.     On  the 
.contrary,  they  depend  upon  that  which  needs  judgment — indi- 
vidual character — and  vary  with  it  (See  Sec.  XXVII). 

The  emotions  which  are  usually  picked  out  as  peculiarly 
ethical,  correspond  to  the  generalized  ideals  already  spoken  of 
(Sec.  XXIX).  "When  the  feared  or  hoped  for  end  is  itself 
brought  into  relation  with  the  self  as  a  whole,  with  organized 
character,  an  emotional  response  appears  which  is  '  moral ' 
in  a  definite  sense.  A  person  who  is  susceptible  to  such 
reactions  is  the  one  with  tender  or  acute  conscience;  it  is  nat- 
ural for  him  to  feel  the  indwelling  reference  of  character  as  a 
whole  to  any  special  act;  if  a  child,  we  say  his  moral  nature 
is  easily  appealed  to. 

To  a  considerable  extent,  this  sensitiveness  to  given  acts  as 
expressions  of  the  whole  character  is  a  natural  gift,  a  temper- 
amental quality;  one  person  always  differs  in  kind  and 
range  of  it  from  every  other.  This  consideration  shows  how 
little  we  can  rest  in  this  emotional  response  as  an  ultimate 
fact,  or  regard  it  as  an  adequate  criterion  for  the  distinction 
between  right  and  wrong.*  It  is,  psychologically,  simply  one 
phase  of  aesthetic  susceptibility  in  general.  Like  all  the  other 
phases,  its  moral  value  lies  not  in  itself  but  in  the  use  to  which 
it  is  put,  the  ends  to  which  it  is  made  subservient.  A  "sensi- 
tive" conscience  may  become  an  ingredient  of  a  bad  character, 
and  a  somewhat  inert  one  a  factor  of  a  good  character.  The 
former  happens  when  the  sensitiveness  leads  the  individual  to 
taking  the  easiest  way  out  of  moral  difficulties,  as  relieving  a 
beggar  simply  to  quiet  the  plamor  of  his  own  "conscience,"  or 
hiding  scenes  of  sin  and  misery  from  himself  because  they  pain 
him  so  grievously.  The  latter  happens  whenever  the  inertness 
is  changed  into  the  habit  of  looking  every  situation  squarely 
in  the  face  as  it  comes,  and  deciding  it  on  its  own  merits, 
•without  regard  to  the  merely  personal  feeling  awakened  by  it. 
Over  pietistic  training  has  almost  always  tended  to  make  the 

*As  some  writers,  naming  it  "  moral  sense,"  have  considered  it. 


—  88  — 

emotional  response  of  conscience  a  criterion  in  itself,  instead 
of  recognizing  that  it  is  a  part  of  conduct  to  which  the  same 
responsibility  for  right  use  attaches,  as  to  the  passion  of  anger, 
or  the  desire  for  food. 

So  far  as  responsibility  for  the  emotional  side  of  conscience 
is  concerned,  the  great  need  is  to  insure  that  emotion  take  the 
form  of  interest — that  is,  satisfaction  in  the  working  out  of  an 
idea  into  deed, — and  not  the  form  of  mere  feeling,  even  though 
it  be  called  "moral  feeling."  In  the  main,  this  is  secured  just 
in  so  far  as  there  is  interest  in  the  deed  on  its  own  account — 
just  as  the  artist  is  interested  in  painting  his  picture,  the 
chess-player  in  his  game,  the  engineer  in  the  execution  of  his 
drainage  project,  etc.  It  must  be  remembered  that  every 
deflection  or  defect  of  interest  as  to  the  deed  itself,  means  lack 
of  attention  to  it,  and  means  diversion  of  thought  in  some 
other  direction,  and  hence,  of  necessity,  something  slighted, 
scrimped  or  distorted  in  the  act  itself.  Completeness  of  action 
and  complete  possession  of  consciousness  (full  interest)  by  the 
thought  of  the  act  are  synonomous  terms. 

In  this  sense,  the  moral  emotion,  or  interest,  and  the 
artistic  interest,  are  identical.*  Both,  to  be  genuine,  are 
interests  in  adequate,  non-slighted  execution  of  ideas;  a  phrase 
which,  after  all,  means  only  undivided,  organic,  pure  interest 
in  the  act  itself.  The  artist  whose  chief  interest  is  in  his  pro- 

*I  say  'artistic,'  not  'aesthetic.'  Artistic  interest  is  interest 
in  the  execution  of  an  idea;  in  its  assumption  of  that  concrete  full- 
ness of  detail  which  is  realization.  Aesthetic  interest  is  interest 
rather  in  the  contemplation  of  some  idea  already  executed.  It  is 
the  difference  between  art  as  a  process  to  the  artist  and  a  work  of 
art  to  the  spectator.  The  latter  may  free  activity  in  the  beholder 
and  so  be  artistic  in  turn;  but  it  may  stop  in  itself,  in  the  mere 
self-absorbed  feeling  awakened.  All  the  attacks,  worth  consider- 
ing, of  moralists  upon  art  as  meaning  self-indulgence,  effiminate- 
ness,  corruption,  etc.,  seem  to  me  to  rest  on  the  confusion  of  artis- 
tic with  aesthetic. 


-84  — 

duct,  qua  product,*  and  not  as  fulfillment  of  a  process  (who 
separates,  that  is,  the  thought  of  the  completed  house  from  the 
steps  necessary  on  his  part  to  complete  it,  who  looks  at  the 
making  of  a  statue  as  a  mere  means  to  the  objective  statue)  is,. 
by  that  very  fact,  so  far  short  as  an  artist.  He  has  not  suffi- 
cient interest  in  his  performance  to  give  it  the  care  and  atten- 
tion it  demands.  A  fortiori,  any  interest  which  looks  beyond 
the  objective  result  to  the  reflex  of  that  result  into  personal 
profit  or  credit  is  partial  and  must  manifest  itself  in  a  partial 
— that  is,  inartistic-execution. 

It  is  necessary,  however,  not  to  be  too  rigid  in  our  concep- 
tion of  the  act;  not  to  attempt  to  draw  lines  too  narrowly  as 
to  just  where  the  act  itself  begins  or  leaves  off  and  external 
considerations  come  in.  A  man  who  should  write  a  book  for 
the  mere  sake  of  fame  would  not  be,  relatively,  much  of  a 
writer;  his  aim  would  not  direct  him;  yet  the  thought  of  fame 
may  become  fused  with  the  thought  of  the  book  and  add  a 
deepened  touch  of  interest  to  his  work.  A  man  who  should 
carry  on  a  profession  simply  for  the  sake  of  supporting  his 
family  would  be  partial  in  his  morality,  and  would  reveal  his 
moral  disintegration  by  carelessness  at  some  critical  juncture. 
But  the  identification  of  his  family's  welfare  with  the  pursuit 
of  his  calling  reinforces,  by  so  much,  his  attention  to  his  busi- 
ness, the  fullness  with  which  he  gives  his  whole  mind  to  his 
duties. 

In  the  same  way,  appeals  to  personal  profit  or  loss  often 
do  not  have  the  selfish  (in  the  bad  sense)  meaning,  which,  at 
first  sight,  attaches  to  them.  A  man's  indignation  at  some 
cruelty  to  humanity  is  often  first  stirred  by  some  bitter  ex- 
perience of  his  own.  A  cynic  may  contend  that  all  his  efforts 
are  now  put  forth  simply  because  of  the  personal  injury  he 
himself  has  suffered;  as  matter  of  fact,  the  appeal  to  his  own 

*".You  look  to  the  result,  you  want  to  see  some  profit  of  your 
endeavors:  that  is  why  you  would  never  learn  to  paint,  if  you 
lived  to  be  Methusalem."  Stevenson,  in  The  Wrecker. 


—  85  — 

nay  ir(f  rein  ply  PD  enlargement  cf  himself.  The 
shock  has  acted  as  a  stimulus  to  call  his  attention  to  matters 
previously  ignored;  it  has  revealed  to  him  his  own  implication 
in  that  which  had  previously  seemed  external.  So  a  man  may 
first  be  awakened  to  the  public's  need  of  improvement  of  tran- 
sit facilities,  or  sanitation,  by  coming  himself  to  own  property 
in  the  needy  region;  but  it  is,  psychologically,  poor  taste  to 
assume  that  of  necessity  such  an  one  is  moved  simply  by  his 
own  advantage.  It  may  again  be  that  his  own  personal  inter- 
est serves  as  a  connecting  link  in  giving  a  stimulus  to  atten- 
tion." 

This  principle  gives  a  basis  *  for  judging  concerning  the 
moral  value  of  rewards  and  punishments;  of  appeals  to  do  a 
deed  because  of  the  profit  it  will  bring  self,  or  because  it  will 
please  parent  or  friend  or  God  to  have  the  act  done.  So  far 
as  these  ends  tend  to  become  distinct  ends,  substituted  for  the 
act  itself,  the  latter  being  reduced  to  a  means,  the  tendency 
is  thoroughly  immoral.  If  these  appeals  are  used  as  stimuli 
to  bring  the  self  to  consciousness  of  itself,  to  bring  home  to 
self  the  real  intrinsic  nature  of  the  deed  needing  to  be  doner 
in  so  far  the  effect  is  moral — provided  always  these  instru- 
mentalities are  the  most  efficient  ones,  under  the  circum- 
stances, in  effecting  this  end. 

Our  general  principle  enables  us  to  ceal  with  the  assertion 
that  a  pure  conscience  always  is  attached  to  the  right  "for  the 
sake  of  the  right."  Correctly  interpreted,  this  statement  is 
true  to  the  point  of  truism,  but  many  who  insist  upon  it  ap- 

* 

*See,  again,  James,  Psychol.,  Vol.  I,  pp.  317-329,  especially  pp. 
325-27.  Alexander,  Moral  Order,  pp.  317-323  is  helpful,  though  he 
seems  to  give  too  personal  a  definition  to  interest.  The  statement 
"  when  its  worth  a  man's  while  to  do  wrong,  the  guilt  lies  as  often 
with  others  as  with  himself,"  maybe  safely  changed,  I  think,  into 
the  statement  that  whenever  there  is  opposition  between  principle 
and  interest,  there  is  always  a  responsibility  upon  others  to  change 
the  conditions  which  make  the  individual  conceive  of  himself  in 
the  narrow  way. 


—  86  — 

pear  to  interpret  it  so  as  to  make  it  false  theoretically,  and 
dangerously  sentimental  practically.  In  reality,  to  do  a  thing 
for  the  sake  of  its  Tightness  means  to  do  it  for  its  own  sake; 
the  Tightness  is  not  an  end  beyond  with  reference  to  which  the 
act  is  a  means;  it  simply  names  that  phase  of  the  end  or  aim 
which  confers  upon  it  a  claim  to  pass  into  act.  Brightness 
names  the  quality  of  the  deed  in  itself  as  the  fully  mediated 
activity,  or  expressed  self.  We  may  say  that  'right'  is  pri- 
marily and  fundamentally  an  adverb;  we  are  to  act  rightly,  in 
a  certain  way  or  fashion.  It  then  becomes  an  adjective;  the 
deed  is  'right'  when  performed  in  this  way.  Finally,  it  is  a 
noun.  Brightness  simply  denominates  this  quality  wherever 
found.  To  make  it  an  end  in  itself  is  to  set  up  a  sheer  ab- 
straction for  the  moral  ideal.  The  result  is  the  same  as  when 
moral  approbation,  or  a  satisfied  conscience,  is  made  the  end. 
(See  page  75).  The  end  lying  beyond  the  act,  attention  to 
the  latter  is  partial  and  diverted;  the  act  is  only  partially, 
that  is,  wrongly,  done.*  The  theory  avenges  itself. 

Yet  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  conflicts  arise,  times  when 
interest  in  the  act  itself  and  interest  in  right  as  such  do  not 
immediately  coincide.  In  times  of  great  temptation,  or  at 
periods  of  change,  when  it  is  necessary  to  do  some  act  so 
novel  that  as  yet  it  does  not  present  interest  for  its  own  sake, 
such  conflicts  occur.  We  feel  that  the  right  in  general  de- 
mands that  the  act  be  done,  and  yet  the  act,  in  itself,  is  de- 
cidedly a  bore  or  even  repulsive.  Or  we  feel  that  an  act  which 

*When  Green  says  (Works,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  335-36)  "The  highest 
moral  goodness  ....  issues  in  acts  done  for  the  sake  of 
their  goodness.  .  .  .  But  it  is  impossible  that  an  act  should  be 
done  for  the  sake  of  its  goodness,  unless  it  has  been  previously 
•contemplated  as  good  for  some  other  reason  than  that  which  con- 
sists in  its  being  done  for  the  sake  of  its  goodness,"  he  seems  to 
fall  into  this  error.  Of  course,  acts  done  earlier  as  good  are  done 
later  with  a  deeper  consciousness  of  what  their  goodness  consists 
In,  but  this  is  quite  a  different  matter.  Upon  the  whole  subject, 
see  Bradley,  Studies,  Essay  II. 


—  87  — 

has  all  the  argument  of  attractiveness  on  its  side  must  be  fore- 
gone simply  for  the  sake  of  right.  Moreover,  it  is  precisely  at 
such  junctures  that  moral  fibre  is  made.  Only  through  such 
discipline  is  character  other  than  wishy-washy.  Only  at  such 
periods  is  morality  freed  from  extraneous  recommendations, 
and  the  self  thrown  back  naked  upon  itself  in  its  own  innate 
vigor.  Do  not  these  facts  contradict  the  theory  laid  down  ? 

The  apparent  contradiction  vanishes  the  moment  we  sub- 
ject the  meaning  of  '  Right '  in  general  to  analysis.  The 
conflict  then  turns  out  to  be  not  between  interest  or  self,  and 
moral  law  or  principle,  but  between  two  selves,  between  an 
interest  in  the  act  narrowly  viewed,  and  an  interest  in  the  act 
more  fully  realized.  My  interest  as  a  momentary  being, 
with  capacities  for  enjoyment,  may  be  in  some  self-indulgence; 
my  interest  in  myself  as  a  member  of  a  family  is  in  abstinence; 
my  interest  in  myself  as,  abstractly,  a  person  who  can  procure 
enjoyment  out  of  possession  is  in  getting  the  better  of  my  cus- 
tomer in  a  bargain;  my  interest  in  my  self  as  actively  partici- 
pating in  the  interchanges  of  life  is  in  honor  and  good  faith. 
In  other  words,  the  Bight  which  demands  loyalty  to  itself  in 
spite  of  the  inducements  of  immediate  interest,  is  not  some 
Bightness  at  large;  it  a  view  of  the  particular  act  as  express- 
ing the  self  wholly  and  not  partially.  And  in  general,  when- 
ever there  is  talk  of  a  conflict  between  a  lower  and  a  higher 
self,  a  material  and  a  spiritual  self,  and  of  the  necessity  of 
sacrificing  one  to  the  other,  as  identical  with  sacrificing  self- 
interest  to  the  demands  of  Law  and  Bight,  it  will  be  found 
that  the  lower  self,  the  interest,  is  a  partial,  passive,  posses- 
sing self;  the  higher  self,  the  Bight,  is  not  some  abstraction, 
but  is  the  self  performing  some  concrete  function,  as  father, 
neighbor  or  citizen. 

We  conclude,  then,  with  the  statement  that  the  emotional 
side  of  conscience  expresses  the  interest  which  every  working 


—  88  — 

ideal  and  act  have  for  the  self— have  by  their  very  nature  psy- 
chologically.* 

SECTION   XXXIV. — NATURE  or  CONSCIENCE  AS   MORAL   KNOW- 
LEDGE, f 

The  intuitional  theory  holds  that  conscience  is  a  peculiar 
faculty  which  gives  man,  directly  and  immediately,  knowledge 
of  principles,  or  rules,  of  right.  In  attacking  the  opposed 
theory  of  smpiricism,  it  is  quite  customary,  however,  for  the 
intuitionalists  to  shift  their  ground,  and  substitute  a  doctrine  of 
the  intrinsic  nature  of  Tightness  for  a  doctrine  of  immediate 
knowledge  of  it.  There  is  no  necessary  connection  between 
these  two  standpoints;  Tightness  may  be  a  quality  which  be- 
longs to  acts  in  themselves  (and  not  because  of  any  consider- 
ations or  results  extraneous  to  the  acts)  and  yet  it  not  be 
known,  except  through  experience,  in  what  this  Tightness  con- 
sists. Any  relation  made  known  by  physical  science  certainly 
belongs  to  mass  and  energy  in  their  own  intrinsic  character 
(if  true,  at  all),  but  it  does  not  follow  that  we  perceive 
these  relations  upon  bare  inspection  of  the  facts.  It  takes 

*  While  not  in  all  cases  discussing  the  same  questions,  the 
standpoint  of  Alexander  seems  to  be  close  to  that  of  the  previous 
pages.  In  addition  to  reference  already  given,  see  Moral  Order, 
pp.  148-160;  181-193;  324-332.  See  Stephen,  Science,  pp.  311-339, 
and  3:J6-417.  On  "  moral  sense,"  Mackenzie,  Manual,  pp.  49-52 
and  references  there  given.  Also  references  in  next  section. 
An  interesting  though  (it  appears  to  me)  somewhat  abstract 
view  of  moral  emotions  will  be  found  in  Laurie,  Ethica,  Chs.  8,  23. 
26  and  27.  Schmidt,  Das  Gewissen,  contains  an  interesting  account 
of  the  historical  development  of  ideas  about  conscience,  from  the 
early  Greek  and  Hebrew  period  to  the  present.  It  includes  much, 
more  than  the  emotional  side.  A  further  statement  of  the  doc- 
trines of  '  higher '  and  '  lower '  selves  will  be  found  in  Dewey, 
Outlines,  pp.  216-220.  A  discussion  of  a  point  barely  alluded  to  in 
the  foregoing  will  be  found  in  Sharp,  Aesthetic  .Element  in  Mor- 
ality. 

t  This  is  to  be  interpreted  as  knowledge  of  right  and  wrong,  not 
of  obligation.  To  that,  a  further  section  is  devoted. 


-89  — 

experience,  often  long  and  painful,  to  bring  home  to  us  these 
"intrinsic"  qualities;  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  the  same 
is  the  case  with  the  quality  of  Tightness.  It  is  no  more  a 
matter  of  direct  perception,  than  is  the  law  of  gravitation.  It 
will  be  found  upon  careful  reading  of  most  modern  intuition- 
alists  that  they  are  really  concerned  to  uphold  the  real  and 
necessary  character  of  the  moral  distinctions  in  themselves, 
rather  than  any  special  theory  regarding  the  way  in  which 
these  distinction  are  made  known. 

A  good  historical  sketch  of  intuitionalism  will  be  found  in 
Sidgwick,  History,  pp.  167-200,  213-224.  The  same  author  gives  a 
theoretical  analysis  in  Methods,  Bk.  I.  chs.  8  and  9,  and  Bk.  III. 
The  following  will  indicate  the  positions  of  some  of  the  modern 
intuitionalists.  Martineau,  Types,  Vol.  II,  Part  II.,  Bk.  I,  especially 
pp.  17-64;  Calderwood,  Moral  Philosophy;  Maurice,  Conscience; 
Rickaby,  Moral  Philosophy;  Janet,  Theory  of  Morals. 

A  good  criticism  of  ordinary  intuitionalism  will  be  found  in 
Porter,  Elements  of  Moral  Science,  ch.  X;  while  in  ch.  VIII.  will  be 
found  a  theory  of  reflective  intuitionalism. 

In  general,  the  intuitional  theory  in  its  older  form  has 
b.een  shattered  by  a  series  of  objections  which  may  be 
summed  up  as  follows:  The  intuitional  theory,  instead  of 
saving  the  necessary  and  objective  character  of  moral  distinc- 
tions, swamps  them  all  in  the  merely  subjective  consciousness. 
An  appeal  to  "intuition"  as  final  means  in  reality  an  appeal 
to  purely  individual  opinion,  to  the  dogmatic  deliverance,  or 
the  unproved  sentiment  of  this  or  that  man.  If  we  go  outside 
the  "intuitions"  of  the  individual,  there  is  left  only  an  appeal 
to  a  vague  common-sense,  which  is  often  unenlightened,  the 
product  of  mere  custom  and  prejudice.  In  general,  intuition- 
alism leads  to  the  consecration  of  established  opinion.  It 
allows  every  existing  creed  and  institution  to  resist  challenge 
and  reform  by  the  assertion,  "I  represent  an  eternal  and  neces- 
sary intuition.''  * 

*  These  are,  in  substance,  the  trenchant  objections  of  Bentham, 
Principles,  chs.  I  and  II.  The  objection  to  intuitions  as  always 
inuring  practically  to  the  conservative  party  is  as  old  as  Locke,  see 
Essay,  Book  I.  It  largely  determined  Stuart  Mill's  standpoint.  See 
Autobiography,  pp.  273-74. 


—  90  — 

The  development  of  historical  and  comparative  science  and 
of  the  doctrine  of  evolution  have  dealt  the  theory  hard  blows. 
The  former  has  revealed  the  great  variety  of  ideas  conscien- 
tiously maintained  upon  matters  of  right  and  wrong  in  different 
ages  and  in  different  peoples,  and  also  largely  accounted  for 
this  variety  of  ideas  by  showing  their  relativity  to  types  of 
social  life.  The  latter  theory,  as  it  gains  in  acceptance, 
leaves  no  room  for  belief  in  any  faculty  of  moral  knowledge 
separate  from  the  whole  process  of  experience,  and  cuts  the 
ground  out  from  under  any  store  of  information  given  directly 
and  immediately.*  The  modern  standpoint  and  method  in 
psychology  also  make  it  almost  impossible  to  attach  any  intel- 
ligent meaning  to  the  thought  of  a  special  faculty  of  know- 
ledge. 

On  strictly  ethical  ground,  the  value  of  such  moral  intui- 
tions, if  we  had  them,  would  be  open  to  grave  question. 
Intuitionalism  would  take  the  form  of  knowledge  either  (a) 
that  this  or  that  particular  act  is  right,  or  (b)  that  certain 
kinds  of  action  (honesty,  chastity,  etc.)  are  right.  The  former 
alternative  would  be  useful  if  the  essence  of  morality  were 
a  short  cut  to  doing  the  exact  things  which  are  right. 
But  if  we  abandon  this  materialistic  ethics,  and  recognize  that 
the  heart  of  morality  is  development  of  character,  a  certain 
spirit  and  method  in  all  conduct,  such  intuitions  would  much 
lessen  the  range  of  self-expression,  and  render  hard  and 
mechanical  what  little  remains.  It  would  shut  out  all  that 
growth  of  character,  all  that  opening  up  of  consciousness  and 
experience  of  values  that  comes  in  the  search  for  and  testing 

*The  first  objection  is  generally  met  by  intuitionalists  by  hold- 
ing that  certain  ultimate  principles  are  alike,  though  their  '  applica- 
tion' varies.  This  transfers  the  ground  entirely  from  a  question  of 
mode  of  knowledge  to  a  question  of  validity  of  content.  In  connec- 
tion with  the  theory  of  evolution,  Spencer's  contention  that  it 
restores  a  modified  intuitionalism  (empirical  for  the  race,  intuition- 
al, by  inheritance  of  consolidated  experience,  for  the  individual)  is  to 
be  noted.  Data,  pp.  123-124. 


—  91  — 

of  right  and  wrong;  it  would  leave  the  individual  simply  with 
the  sheer,  arbitrary  decision  to  abide  or  not  to  abide  by  the 
right  once  for  all  revealed. 

If  intuition  reveals  general  principles,  then  the  responsi- 
bility of  the  individual  is  limited  simply  to  their  application. 
More  than  this,  moral  principles  once  for  all  made  known  go 
necessarily  with  an  external  ideal  and  standard.  Casuistry — 
the  consideration  of  an  act  from  the  standpoint  of  different 
rules,  in  order  to  see  under  which  one  it  is  to  be  brought — is 
a  necessary  outcome. 

The  term  'intuition'  has  a  popular  as  well  as  a  philo- 
sophic sense.  Examination  indicates  that  the  popular  sense 
is  really  much  more  philosophical  than  the  one  professedly  so. 
In  practical  life,  we  mean  by  intuition  the  power  to  seize  as  a 
whole,  in  a  single  and  almost  instantaneous  survey,  a  complete 
group  of  circumstances.  It  is  the  power  to  read  off  at  a  glance 
the  meaning  of  a  given  situation.  It  is  opposed  not  to  exper- 
ience, but  to  abstract  logical  reflection.  It  is  the  outcome,  on 
the  theoretic  side,  of  habit  on  the  practical  side.  A  custom  of 
dealing  with  a  certain  sort  of  facts  and  conditions  often  gives 
an  almost  incredible  facility  in  coming  to  an  immediate  conclu- 
sion. When  the  quality  is  largely  temperamental,  we  term  it 
(or  rather  the  response  in  action  based  upon  it)  'tact';  devel- 
oped through  experience,  it  constitutes  the  'expert.'  The 
architect  sizes  up  a  plan  at  once,  and  is  prepared  to  act.  The 
landscape  gardener  takes  in  at  a  look  the  possibilities  of  a  cer- 
tain 'lie'  of  ground,  and  sketches  its  future  development,  etc. 
In  this  practical  sense,  much  of  our  moral  knowledge  is 
constantly  assuming  the  form  of  intuitions.  The  demand  for 
quick  appreciation  of  conditions  for  action  in  general  is  much 
greater  than  it  can  be  in  any  one  special  direction,  like  carpen- 
try, or  treatment  of  guests.  Thus  every  individual  comes  to 
have  ways  of  judging  action  which  are  practically  instinctive.* 
It  must  also  be  remembered  that  the  whole  experience  goes  on 

*See  Dewey,  Psy  ,  pp.  344-46. 


—  92  — 

in  terms  of  the  individual  self.  Both  initiating  impulse  and 
mediating  idea  are  acts  of  self.  This  reference  to  self  always 
limits  the  field  for  reflection,  and  also  makes  this  field  a  whole, 
a  self-contained  unity.  That  a  man  should  get  intimate  prac- 
tical acquaintance  with  self,  should  come  to  appreciate  quickly 
his  own  deepest  concerns,  that  he  should  form  habits  so  funda- 
mental that  they  at  once  take  up  a  given  set  of  facts  into  them- 
selves and  thus  judge  its  value — all  this  is  matter  for  no  sur- 
prise.* Two  qualifications  are  to  be  noted.  First,  such  intui- 
tions are  not  an  ultimate  criterion.  They  test  individual  char- 
acter, because  they  are  functions  of  it;  that  is,  the  kind  of 
judgments  immediately  passed  shows  the  kind  of  character 
engaged  in  making  the  judgment.  No  moral  judgment  is 
ever  merely  intellectual,  because  it  reflects  the  aims  and  inter- 
ests -of  the  judge.  These  intuitions  must,  therefore,  upon 
occasion  submit  themselves  to  wider  judgment,  must  become 
conditions  of  a  fuller  character.  Secondly,  strength  of  moral 
character  demands  a  continued  tension  between  the  reflective 
and  intuitive  sides,  as  between  conscious  aim  and  habit. 
(See  pp.  18-19. )  The  intuitive  side  means  quickness,  cer- 
tainty, and,  above  all,  concreteness  and  solidity;  the  reflective 
side  is  the  demand  for  continued  mediation,  for  continued 
reaction  of  the  whole  into  the  part,  for  enlargement  of  scope. 
It  means  delay,  but  a  delay  which  permits  a  wider  field  to  be 
surveyed;  uncertainty,  but  an  uncertainty  which  makes  the 
final  making  up  of  one's  mind  more  reasonable. 

The  empirical  theory  of  conscience  is  that  the  individual 
has  no  immediate  knowledge  of  right  and  wrong,  either  as  to 
particular  acts  or  general  principles,  but  that  such  knowledge 
is  the  outgrowth  of  continued  experience.  Logically,  this  is 
all  the  empirical  theory  is  required  to  mean;  and  in  this  strict 
sense,  empiricism  seems  to  be  true.  The  theory,  however, 
has  no  special  meaning,  until  there  is  a  further  analysis  of 

*Emerson  has  stated  the  intuitive  character  of  moral  knowledge 
as  a  result  of  the  individual's  own  activity  more  clearly  than  any 
moralist.  See,  for  example,  his  Essay  on  Self-Reliance. 


—  93  — 

what  experience  is.  In  general,  the  saying  that  "knowledge 
results  from  experience"  is  a  meaningless  one;  the  point  of 
interest  is  always  in  the  question  how  experience  gives  birth  to 
knowledge. 

The  force  of  this  general  statement  is  apparent  when  we 
note  that  historically  the  ethical  empiricist  has  gone  far  beyond 
tbe  harmless  statement  above  made,  and  insisted  that  moral 
knowledge  couies  from  a  calculation  of  the  consequences  of  the 
act,  those  consequences  lying  outside  the  content  of  the  act 
itself.  In  other  words,  the  empiricists  have,  as  a  rule,  been 
hedonists,  and  have  interpreted  their  empiricism  as  meaning 
that  moral  quality  isjyitrinsic  to  the  act,  lying  in  the  results 
of  the  act  in  the  way  of  pleasure  and  pain,  not  intrinsic  to  the 
act  itself. 

Thus  the  negative  side  of  both  intuitionalism  and  empiri- 
cism has  been  their  strength.  The  empiricist  has  kept  up  his 
side  by  denying  that  we  have  immediate  knowledge  of  right; 
the  intuitional ist  has  sustained  his  by  denying  that  moral 
quality  is  found  in  considerations  alien  to  the  act's  own 
structure.  Both  have  failed  in  interpreting  the  positive  sig- 
nificance of  their  own  contentions.  The  failure  of  empiricism 
need  hardly  be  re  argued  here.  The  force  of  the  objections 
already  brought  against  pleasure  as  standard  finally  comes 
back  to  the  idea  that  pleasure  as  a  result,  lies  outside  the  act 
itself,  outside  the  character  of  the  person  willing  the  act,  and, 
therefore,  is  accidental,  externally  variable,  incapable  of  being 
foreseen,  tending  to  produce  either  undue  laxity  or  undue  anx- 
iety— in  general,  unusable. 

On  the  ground  of  the  principles  hitherto  advanced,  exper- 
ience is  precisely  the  mediation  of  impulse;  the  execution  of 
impulse  brings  it  to  consciousness,  shows  the  meaning  for  life 
as  a  whole  of  that  impulse  in  particular.  By  reaching  in  a 
certain  way  (that  is,  in  connection  with  other  impulses  of  ear 
or  eye)  we  find  out  what  this  impulse  means,  its  value,  in 
terms  both  of  the  content  of  the  impulse,  the  object  (ball,  or 


-94  — 

hot  iron  or  whatever)  and  in  terms  of  the  place  which  that 
object  occupies  in  our  own  sentient  experience — pleasure  or 
pain.  Experience  is  the  revelation  of  the  meaning  of  our 
impulses,  of  our  acting  selves.  As  such,  there  must  be  all  the 
regard  to  consequences  in  forming  aims,  and  using  standards, 
which  the  most  extreme  empiricist  could  urge.  But  these  con- 
sequences are  not  extrinsic  to  the  act — they  are  the  act  un- 
folded, defined.  (See  Sec.  XII.  A  most  suggestive  illustra- 
tion and  formulation  of  this  principle  will  be  found  in  Vol.  I, 
No.  6  of  Philosophical  Review,  Article  by  James). 


—  95  — 

CHAPTER  VI.— OBLIGATION. 
SECTION  XXXV. — THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  OBLIGATION. 

A  typical  phase  of  conscience  is  indicated  by  such  phrases 
as  '  I  ought,  am  bound,'  '  it  is  my  duty,'  to  act  thus  and  so. 
There  is  here  a  consciousness  of  a  double  relation.  '  I  ought 
to  go  to  my  business  today '  means  there  is  an  agent  on  one 
side,  and  a  certain  idea  on  the  other;  that  the  former  owes 
something  to  the  latter,  while  the  latter  imposes  a  certain  ne- 
cessity (a  bounden  somewhat)  on  the  former  (Duty,  due,  debt; 
ought,  owe).  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  peculiar  relation 
between  agent  and  ideal?  This  problem  becomes  clearer 
when  we  compare  it  with  the  question  of  the  good.  In  that 
also,  there  is  a  distinction  between  immediate  agent  and  ideal; 
the  one  being  in  a  condition  of  lack  and  effort,  and  the  other 
expressing  satisfaction,  and  a  completed  act.  But  both  terms 
of  the  relation  are  in  the  same  line  of  movement.  The  im- 
mediate self  is  striving  to  attain  the  good;  the  good  is  this 
striving  satisfied.  But  in  duty,  the  distinction  between  pres- 
ent self  and  ideal  seems  pushed  to  the  point  of  dualism.  The 
present  self  does  not  want,  of  itself,  it  would  seem, 
to  realize  the  ideal;  the  latter  rather  presents  itself  as  a  de- 1 
mand,  an  exaction,  if  not  a  coercion.  It  stands  over 
against  the  agent  and  utters  the  "categorical  imperative ''|| 
(Kant),  'thou  shalt,'  'thou  oughtst,'  instead  of  drawing  the^ 
agent  on  by  its  own  intrinsic  attractiveness. 

Were  the  relation  one  of  sheer  compulsion  or  coercion, 
however,  the  problem,  in  some  respects,  would  be  easier  to 
deal  with.  We  could,  at  least,  class  it  with  other  exhibitions 
of  brute  force;  the  relation  would  be  simply  one  case  of  a  su- 
perior energy  overcoming  a  lesser.  But,  on  the  contrary,  in 
spite  of  all  the  apparent  opposition  and  resistance  between 
agent  and  ideal,  the  consciousness  of  duty  carries  with  it  the 
sense  of  a  fundamental  underlying  identity.  The  sense  of  ob- 
ligation is  not  the  sense  of  a  stronger  alien  force  bearing  down ; 
it  is  rather  the  sease  that  the  obligatory  qct  is  somehow  more 


-96  — 

truly   and  definitely  one's  self  than  the   present   self   upon 

I  which  the  obligation  is  imposed.  '  I  ought  to  do  this  act,' 
implies  that  'this  act'  is  really  "I'';  in  so  far  as  the  idea  of 
the  act  is  felt  as  merely  alien  to  self,  it  is  felt  as  irritating,  as 
something  to  be  got  rid  of,  not  as  authoritatively  binding. 

We  thus  have  before  us,  in  a  descriptive  way,  the  main  feat- 
ures of  the  consciousness  of  duty.  It  is  a  consciousness  of 
'the  present  self  in  relation  to  an  idea  of  action,  this  relation 
involving  (a)  a  certain  opposition  and  conflict  between  the 
two,  based  on  the  reluctance  of  the  immediate  self  to  identify 
itself  in  action  with  the  idea,  and  thus  realize  it,  and  (b)  a 
consciousness  that  in  reality  the  ideal  is  a  more  adequate  ex- 
pression of  the  self  than  is  the  present  agent. 

The  psychology  of  this  relation  may  be  most  easily  ap- 
proached by  a  return  to  the  distinction  of  self  as  immediate  and 
mediate.  At  a  given  time,  there  is  always  a  certain  body  of 
positive  impulse  and  habit  urging  forward  for  complete 
expression.  But  this  very  structure,  in  its  expression,  stimu- 
lates certain  other  tendencies  and  activities  which  are  not,  on 
their  face,  compatible  with  the  prior  activities  which  induced 
them.  It  is,  for  example,  upon  the  basis  of  certain  present 
activities  that  a  person  marries,  or,  again,  engages  in  a  cer- 
tain profession.  The  activities  corresponding  to  these  latter 
engagements  are  stimulated  by  the  former,  and  are,  indeed, 
necessary  to  their  normal  psychological  completion.  Never- 
theless, the  person  has  now,  as  we  say,  "  assumed  the  obliga- 
tions "  of  a  new  condition  or  occupation.  He  cannot  possibly 
continue  his  former  habits  unchanged;  they  must,  moreover, 
not  only  be  modified  here  and  there,  in  pieces,  but  must  be 
subordinated,  readjusted  to  the  new  aims.  Here  we  have  the 
psychical  conditions  for  the  feeling  of  obligation.  The  old 
habits  tend  to  assert  themselves;  they  maintain  themselves  by 
their  own  inertia  and  momentum.  Moreover,  it  is  highly  im- 
portant, from  the  moral  standpoint  (as  well  as  necessary  from 
the  psychical)  that  they  should  do  so.  If  the  habits  are  en- 


tirely  resolved,  or  disintegrated,  there  is  no  efficient  instru- 
mentality by  which  the  new  aims  may  realize  themselves. 
The  person  relapses  into  a  moral  pulp.  What  is  wanted  is 
not  the  destruction  of  the  old  habits  and  desires,  but  their 
utilization  in  new  directions.  Now,  just  in  the  degree  in  which 
the  habit  is  definite  and  efficient,  it  will  resist  an  immediate 
and  speedy  assumption  of  a  new  direction.  It  is,  upon  the 
whole,  safe  to  say  that  only  in  matters  of  slight  importance,  or 
of  weak  and  unformed  character,  will  the  habit  slip  easily  and 
naturally  into  new  channels,  and  become,  through  its  co-ordi- 
nations with  other  habits,  a  subordinate  factor  in  a  more  com- 
prehensive habit*  It  is  of  its  very  nature  to  continue  its  self- 
assertion. 

And  yet  the  newly  aroused  tendencies  and  ideas  are  organ- 
ically connected  with  this  habit.  They  are  included  within  its 
self-assertion.  The  expression  of  the  old  habit  carries  within 
itself  the  making  over  of  the  old  habit.  The  responsibilities 
of  the  new  profession  which  demand  a  surrender  of  old  acts 
and  enjoyments,  which  acquire  a  redistribution  of  time,  which 
impose  changes  in  the  direction  of  attention  and  interest — all 
this  is  not  a  visitor  from  an  outside  sphere,  but  arises  from  the 
former  acts  and  impulses,  the  former  interests  and  lines  of 
attention.  The  new  which  requires  the  readjustment  of  the 
old  is  necessary  to  the  integrity  of  the  old.  Hence  the  sense 
of  finding  self  in  the  duty,  the  sense  of  unity,  as  well  as  of 
conflict  and  difference.  The  two  sides  in  their  tension  give 
that  consciousness  of  authority  and  subjection  which  is  the 
marked  phase  of  the  sense  of  duty. 

The  sense  of  duty  is  thus  a  phenomenon  of  moral  progress 
appearing  in  so  far  as  an  intention  or  ideal  demands  the  trans^ 
formation  of  impulse  and  habit,  by  adapting  them  to  instru- 
ments of  its  own  realization.  Without  the  new  ideal,  the  habit 
becomes  monotonous  and  dead;  sheer  routine.  Not  being  in 
tension  with  an  aim,  it  falls  entirely  below  consciousness,  and 
thus  loses  all  value  and  significance.  It  is  the  essence  of  habit 


—  98-- 

to  be  instrumental,  a  means  for  accomplishing  ends.  If  the 
end  has  been  accomplished,  the  unmodified  repetition  of  the 
habit  is  useless,  and  is  paid  for  by  disintegration;  the  habit 
sets  up  in  business  for  itself,  runs  on  its  own  account,  and  its 
action  becomes  at  odds  with  the  activity  of  the  organism  as  a 
whole.  The  habit  of  eating,  for  example,  has  been  initiated 
and  developed  with  reference  to  the  end  of  maintaining  life;  it 
is  relative,  as  habit,  to  an  organic  function,  and  must,  to  be 
efficient,  be  controlled  constantly  (held  in  check,  be  made  to 
operate  as  to  when,  where  and  how  much)  by  reference  to  the 
function. 

Biologically  and  psychologically,  it  is  a  divipion  of  labor;  yet, 
as  such,  it  gets  a  certain  independence  and  tends  to  isolation;  to 
become  the  act  of  eating  for  the  mere  sake  of  eating.*  This 
tendency  is  involved  in  its  becoming  a  division  of  labor,  with 
its  own  specific,  defined  structure  and  modes  of  operation.  To 
do  away  with  the  tendency  would  be  to  destroy  the  specializa- 
tion of  structure,  and  relapse  into  a  relatively  unorganized 
life,  one  homogeneous  as  to  parts  and  organs. 

The  problem  here  arises,  in  other  words,  from  the  very 
nature  of  progress.  Progress  demands  definite  individualiza- 
tion,  specific  organization.  It  requires  effective  instruments, 
and  no  instrument  is  effective  save  as  its  structure  is  individual- 
ized with  reference  to  the  special  service  to  be  performed  by 
it.  As  long  as  the  movement  to  be  accomplished  is  rough  and 
bulky,  one  and  the  same  physical  lever  will  serve  for  a  multi- 
tude of  ends;  let  the  ends  to  be  reached  become  refined  and 
valuable,  the  idea  of  leverage  has  to  be  differentiated  into 
thousands  of  physical  shapes,  sizes  and  materials.  Every 
instrument  then,  as  instrument,  must  assert  its  own  specific, 

*To  recur  to  the  ethics  of  hedonism,  we  thus  get  a  criterion  for 
the  moral  value  of  pleasures  and  pains.  Any  pleasure  or  pain  is 
normal  (moral)  in  so  far  as  it  accompanies  the  working  of  an  organ 
which  is  stimulated  into  action  by  the  demands  of  the  organism  as  a 
whole;  is  pathological  (immoral)  in  so  far  as  the  organ  assumes  to 
work  per  se,  or  on  its  own  credit. 


-99  — 

differentiated  character,  or  relapse  into  uselessness.     But,  on 
the  other  hand,  it  is  the  nature  of  progress  to  require  that 
instruments  be  truly  instrumental,  that  they  serve  for  ideas, 
for  ends.     The  instrument  must  be  flexible,  must  be  contin- 
ually readjusted  to  meet  new  needs  and  requirements.     This  ^ 
antithesis   between   differentiation,    definition  (stability)  andi     * 
coordination,    interaction,   (flexibility)  gives,  once   more,    the^***^ 
conditions  involved  in  the  consciousness  of  obligation. 

The  progressive  action  of  any  organism  illustrates  the 
same  relationship.  The  eye  represents  in  its  structure  definite 
habits  of  action;  it  represents  a  specialization  of  the  whole 
organism  for  a  certain  purpose.  It  is  effective  and  orderly 
just  in  the  degree  of  its  specialization.  It  must  assert  itself, 
assert  seeing,  and  not  attempt,  upon  occasion,  to  hear  or  to 
reach.  There  is,  therefore,  a  continued  tendency  to  isolation, 
a  continued  tendency  merely  to  see.  The  healthy  organism 
keeps  this  differentiated  action  in  tension  by  rendering  the  habit 
of  seeing  adapted  to  the  needs  of  other  organs.  The  eye  sees 
and  only  sees,  but  not  for  itself  merely.  It  sees  to  help  the 
hand  reach,  to  help  the  legs  walk,  etc.,  etc.  In  short,  there  is 
a  continued  relative  distinction  and  continued  reconciliation, 
on  basis  of  organic  unity,  of  structure  (organ)  and  function. 
The  individual  agent,  as  present  self,  is  so  much  immediate 
impulse  and  habit,  so  much  structure,  a  definite  organ;  while 
the  ideal  which  demands  a  certain  quality,  a  certain  direction 
of  the  agent,  stands  for  function,  for  organic  service.  In  this 
process,  '  organ '  evidently  stands  for  the  self  as  distinguished, 
as  partial;  function  for  self  as  unified,  as  whole. 

Here,  as  everywhere,  both  the  conservative  and  the  radical 
factors  are  required  for  progressive  action,  nay,  for  each  other. 
An  ideal,  without  existing  habits  and  impulses  which  repre- 
sent the  past  (impulses,  the  history  of  the  race,  habits,  of  the 
individual)  has  no  machinery,  no  instrument  of  realization. 
It  is  in  the  air,  impotent,  sentimental,  dreamy.  The  reform 
must  always  be  a  re-form,  a  readjustment  of  the  existing  habits 


—  100  — 

giving  them  new  value.  But  the  existing  habits,  save  as  they 
become  subordinate  factors  in  a  larger  value,  lose  their  power. 
The  past  can  be  maintained  only  by  being  used,  and  that 
means  readjusted.  Left  to  itself,  it  decays,  introducing  fric- 
tion. Power  is  lost,  not  conserved. 

To  sum  up:  the  consciousness  of  obligation  arises  when- 
ever there  is  felt  the  necessity  of  employing  an  existent  habit 
or  impulse  to  realize  an  end  with  which  it  is  connected  on  the 
basis  of  present  need,  though  not  of  past  history.  Its  peculiar 
double  relationship  arises  from  the  fact  that  it  is  the  nature  of 
habit  and  impulse  in  themselves,  or  abstractly,  to  demand 
immediate  discharge  on  the  basis  of  their  own  past;  thus  they 
tend  to  resist  readjustment,  and  go  their  own  way.  But  habits 
and  impulses  are,  after  all,  developed  with  reference  to  the 
needs  of  the  organism;  the  habit  is  not  isolated,  but  connected, 
and  the  consciousness  of  this  functional  connection  comes  out 
in  the  recognition  that  the  required  thing  is  somehow  bound 
up  with  our  own  being,  and  not  imposed  from  without. 

This  connection  of  duty  with  critical  periods,  periods  of  a 
greater  or  less  readjustment,  of  adaptation  of  old  habits  to 
new  needs,  determines  the  extent  to  which  the  consciousness  of 
duty  should,  normally,  enter  into  conduct.  Practical  common 
sense  recognizes  two  extremes  equally  repugnant  to  it.  On 
one  side  is  the  character  which  professes  to  bring  every  act, 
from  small  to  great,  in  connection  with  duty;  which  professes 
to  perform  every  act  under  the  guidance  of  a  stern  sense  of 
duty— which  never  lets  itself  go,  never  plays  morally.  Our 
repulsion  to  this  standpoint  as  pedantic,  narrow,  as  indicating 
an  ungenerous  disposition,  making  us  suspect  hypocrisy,  is 
justified  by  the  previous  analysis.  It  is  true  that  every  act  of 
the  moral  man  should,  objectively  viewed,  be  a  dutiful  act;  it 
should  always  be  possible  to  say  of  it  (that  is,  when  it  is 
reflected  upon)  that  it  was  the  act  which,  under  the  given  con- 
ditions, ought  to  have  been  performed.  But  it  by  no  means 
follows  that  because  every  moral  act  is  dutiful  (i.  e.,  right)  that 


-101  — 

it  should  be  accompanied  with  a  distinct  sense  of  obligation. 
On  the  contrary,  since  the  larger  number  of  the  acts  of  a 
decent  man  is  covered  by  some  general  plan  in  pursuance 
with  which  they  occur,  the  normal  attitude  in  these  cases  is 
that  of  unconsciousness  of  duty.  The  act  is  taken  care  of  by 
the  general  line  of  attention,  by  the  comprehensive  interest. 
It  falls,  in  so  far,  within  the  habit  of  action;  the  tension 
between  habit  and  plan  or  ideal  is  slight.  The  reflection  or 
tension,  between  immediate  act  and  mediating  idea,  necessary 
for  value,  is  maintained  simply  by  reflection  upon  means,  upon 
the  best  expedients  or  instrumentalities  for  realizing  the  end. 
Think  of  the  moral  futility  of  a  mother  caring  for  her  child,  a 
business  man  following  his  calling,  by  accompanying  all  acts 
with  consciousness  of  duty !  There  is  not  sufficient  reconstruc- 
tion of  ends  to  demand  any  such  consciousness,  and  if  it  enters 
in,  it  is  forced  and  unreal. 

But  there  is  another  moral  tendency  which  insists  that 
duty  must  be  swallowed  up  in  inclination  and  love — that  so  far 
as  one  is  moral,  he  performs  all  his  acts  with  no  consciousness 
of  authority  and  subjection,  no  sense  of  bounden  duty,  but 
from  the  overflowing  spontaneity  of  his  own  affection.  Prac- 
tical sense,  without  being  able  to  give  its  reasons,  is  as 
suspicious  of  this  view  as  of  the  other.  Analysis  reveals 
the  reasons.  The  steady  affection,  the  direct  outflow  of  inter- 
est, will  cover  all  actions  which  lie  within  the  scope  of  any  one 
end,  less  or  greater.  But  when  the  acts  appropriate  to  that 
end  are  exhausted,  when  the  end  has  become  realized,  a  read- 
justment of  attention  is  required.  A  new  end  comes  in,  and 
demands  a  rearrangement,  a  reform,  of  older  habits  and  inter- 
ests. This  means  suspense,  resistance,  conflict,  the  sense  of 
subjection  and  of  authority  in  some  form.  Were  there  no 
critical  periods,  no  times  of  readjustment,  the  absorption  of 
duty  in  direct  inclination  would  occur,  but  so  long  as  they 
come— so  long  in  other  words,  as  progress  through  relative 
discontinuity  or  nodal  points  is  the  law  of  life— a  character 


—  102  — 

without  sense  of  obligation  is  inadequate,  slippery  and  wishy- 
washy.  The  practical  point  is  that  there  is  no  occasion  to  be 
continually  stirring  up  the  feeling  of  obligation,  to  be  remind- 
ing one's  self  of  it  ab  extra.  Interest  in  work  is  the  normal 
condition,  and  the  ooen  minded  man,  with  broad  and  flexible 
interest,  will  find  that  very  interest,  at  critical  periods  of  his 
work,  force  the  problems  of  obligation  upon  him,  without  his 
hunting  them  up  afield. 

This  connection  of  obligation  with  the  periods  of  recon- 
struction in  moral  progress  also  accounts  for  the  relativity,  or 
better,  the  individuality,*  of  duty.  Let  theorists  deal  with 
the  facts  as  they  may,  the  facts  remain  that  no  two  persons 
have  or  can  have  the  same  duties.  It  is  only  when  we  are 
dealing  with  abstractions  that  they  appear  the  same.  Truth - 
telling  is  a  duty  for  all,  but  it  is  not  the  duty  of  all  to  tell  the 
same  truth,  because  they  have  not  the  same  truth  to  tell.  Any 
other  conception  is  like  the  pedagogical  theory  which  has 
mechanized  our  schools — that  all  the  children  are  to  recite  the 
history,  the  geography,  the  arithmetic  lesson  in  the  same  way. 
It  is  only  the  abstraction,  the  text-book,  which  is  the  same. 
The  truth  to  each  child  is  this  abstract  fact  assimilated  into 
his  own  interests  and  habits,  and  proceeding  from  them  vit- 
alized— free.  The  great  underlying  contradiction,  the  lie,  in 
modern  moral  methods,  is  the  assertion  of  individuality  in 
name,  and  the  denial  of  it  in  fact.  Duty  always  expresses  a 
relation  between  the  impulses  and  habits,  the  existing  struc- 
tures of  a  concrete  agent,  and  the  ideal,  intention,  purpose 

*  The  theories  which  have  made  so  much  of  '  relativity  '  in  eth- 
ics seem  lo  me,  without  exception,  to  stop  half  way.  The  very  idea  of 
relativity  implies  that  there  is  still  somehow  a  single,  abs  lute  stand- 
ard and  duty  for  all,  but  that  owing  to  circumstances  or  '  finitude' 
or  some  other  unanalyzed  category,  we  aren't  up  to  it  yet,  and  have 
to  make  a  shift  with  our  relative  morality.  Assume  frankly  onoe 
the  standpoint  of  the  individuality  of  conduct,  and  the  whole  rela- 
tivity industry  is  outlawed,  while  all  the  facts  brought  out  in  its 
maintenance  are  amply  preserved.  The  standard  and  process  are 
absolute,  but  (and  because)  individual. 


—  103  — 

which  demands  a  new  service  of  that  structure.  By  the  neces- 
sities of  the  case,  it  is  only  the  general  form  of  duty,  the  rela- 
tionship between  habit  and  demand,  which  is  alike  in  different 
individuals,  or  in  the  same  individual  at  different  times.  A 
man  of  real  self-control  is  no  more  conscious  (save  at  critical 
junctures)  of  the  duty  of  temperance  than  the  thief  is  consci- 
ous of  the  duty  of  regard  for  property.  In  the  former  case, 
there  is  no  impulse  or  habit  to  fall  into  tension  with  the  de- 
mand for  control,  and  hence  no  sense  of  duty — save  again  at 
the  times  when  new  circumstances  flood  in,  arousing  dormant 
impulses.  In  the  latter  case  there  is  no  ideal  to  create  the 
tension.  For  consciousness  of  obligation  to  arise  in  the  former 
case  (save  in  conditions  mentioned)  indicates  degeneration;  in 
the  latter  case,  it  is  the  potency  of  reformation.  Let  this  ex- 
treme instance  serve  to  indicate  the  dependence  of  conscious- 
ness of  duty  upon  individuality. 

Other  mooted  questions  with  reference  to  obligation,  the 
conflict  of  desire  and  duty,  of  interest  and  reason,  of  the 
'  ought '  and  the  '  is,'  will  best  be  discussed  in  connection  with 
the  two  types  of  one-sided  theories  of  duty  next  to  be  con- 
sidered. Each  of  these  theories  abstracts  one  phase  of  the 
relationship  between  immediate  acting  and  mediate  ideal, 
and  by  exaggerating  it  to  cover  the  entire  field,  by  denying  or 
minimizing  the  other  phase,  presents  a  distorted  view  of  moral 
experience.  Here  again  we  may  consider  the  Stoic  and  Kan- 
tian ethics  as  the  abstraction  of  the  ideal  side,  and  the  hedon- 
istic ethics  as  the  abstraction  of  the  direct  side. 

SECTION  XXXVI. — THE  KANTIAN  THEORY  OF  OBLIGATION. 

Kant's  starting  point  is  the  unconditional  character  of  mor- 
ality. It  admits  of  no  exceptions;  allows  of  no  parleyings,  of 
no  if  and  buts.  It  says  without  compromise,  "Thou  oughtst." 
It  does  not  follow,  but  precedes  and  commands  inclination.  It 
does  not  depend  for  its  authority  upon  any  desire  or  tendency 
towards  itself;  it  rather  requires  of  desire  a  certain  quality  and 


—  104  — 

of  tendency  a  certain  direction.  It  proposes  not  a  dependent, 
but  an  absolute  end — it  is  a  categorical,  not  a  hypothetical 
imperative.  Some  commands  read,  "Do  thus  and  so  if  you 
would  reach  a  certain  end  " ;  but  morality  says,  you  must  do 
this,  you  must  have  a  certain  kind  of  end  in  view.*  Thus  duty 
imposes  laws,  while  hypothetical  aims,  ends  which  presuppose 
a  further  end,  can  give  rise  only  to  either  rules  of  skill— the 
most  suitable  ways  of  reaching  that  end — or  to  counsels  of 
prudence — provisions  for  securing  happiness. 

Beside  the  universal,  independent  authoritative  character 
of  duty,  its  important  feature  is  its  relative  opposition  to 
immediate  inclination.  The  notion  of  duty,  says  Kant  (p.  13 
of  Abbott's  trans.),  implies  certain  subjective  restrictions  and 
hindrances.  In  other  words,  it  is  imperative,  as  well  as  cate- 
gorical. The  very  fact  that  it  takes  the  form  of  command,  of 
law,  of  authority,  implies  a  subject  who  may,  if  left  to  himself, 
resist. f  As  thus  stated,  the  doctrine  seems  practically  iden- 
tical with  that  already  laid  down.  This  apparent  identity  is 
reinforced  when  we  find  that  the  source  from  which  the  'cate- 
gorical imperative'  proceeds  is  not  external  to  self  or  will,  but 
is  the  self  or  will  in  its  universal  nature.  Obligation  is  a  rela- 
tion holding  between  will  in  one  aspect,  that  of  universal 
rationality  and  validity,  and  will  in  another  aspect,  individual 
preference  (Willktihr),  not  between  will  and  any  external  end 
or  power.  Kant  insists  strenuously  upon  this  point,  terming 

*"  There  is  an  imperative  which  commands  a  certain  conduct 

immediately,  without  having  as  its  condition  any  other  purpose  to 

I  be  attained  by  it.     This  imperative  is  categorical.  .  .  .  This  impera- 

l  tive  may  be  called  that  of  morality."    Abbott's  trans.,  p.  33;  see 

whole  passage,  pp.  30-39;  also  pp.  112-144;  119-121;  125-127;  153. 

t  This  aspect  comes  out  most  clearly  in  the  case  Kant  takes  to 
distinguish  the  dutiful  from  the  holy  will.  (See  p.  58;  121;  pp.  174- 
178.)  The  latter  will  is  so  identified  with  the  ideal  that  the  ideal  pre- 
sents itself  not  as  law  or  duty,  but  simply  as  good.  This  is  a  con- 

I  dition  to  be  always  striven  for,  but    never   attained  by  "  finite " 

/  beings,  like  man. 


—  105  — 

true  obligation  'autonomous,'  while  false  theories  make  it 
' heteronomous.'  (See  Abbott,  pp.  50-54;  57-59;  72;  180- 
181). 

The  identity  disappears  when  we  study  in  detail  the  mean- 
ing which  Kant  attaches  to  the  conception  of  self  as  uncondi- 
tional (authoritative)  law-giver,  and  the  relative  opposition 
of  this  law  giving  self  to  the  subject  self.  We  shall  find  that 
Kant  interprets  these  ideas  negatively — by  abstraction.  By  ' 
the  universality  of  self  he  means  something  which  excludes  all 
specific  material  of  experience;  by  the  opposition  of  the  duty- 
imposing  self  to  the  immediate  agent  something  which  excludes 
any  natural  underlying  identity  of  the  two. 

The  course  of  the  argument  runs  as  follows:  Since  the 
authority  of  moral  law,  or  duty,  is  unconditional  and  absolute, 
it  cannot  rest  upon  anything  given  in  experience.  ( See  refer- 
ences given  at  end  of  Sec.  XIII,  p.  21).  Everything  which 
rests  upon  experience  is  contingent  and  variable;  experience 
at  most  can  determine  that  a  thing  has  been  so  and  so  in  the 
past,  not  that  it  is  so  without  qualifaction.  Much  less  can  it 
establish  that  a  certain  duty  ought  to  be  done,  for  the  duty 
may  refer  to  an  ideal  which  has  never  been  realized — which 
(Kant  would  sometimes  seem  to  say)  can  never  be  realized, 
and  which  it  is  none  the  less  our  duty  to  strive  to  realize. 
Now  if  we  remove  all  content  of  experience  from  the  law  thus 
imposed  there  remains  nothing  but  the  mere  form  of  will,  or 
practical  reason,  nothing  but  the  bare  idea  of  law  universal. 

The  same  kind  of  considerations  determine  the  nature  of 
the  opposition  between  duty  and  the  immediate  agent.  The 
immediate  agent  may  be  reduced  to  an  impulsive,  desiring 
being;  all  ends  posited  by  man  in  this  capacity  are  matters  of 
experience  and  have,  therefore,  to  be  neglected  in  considering 
the  end  involved  in  doing  one's  duty,  the  end  imposed  by  the 
rational  will.  Furthermore,  those  ends  which  the  impulses 
and  desires  propose  for  themselves  are  not  only  to  be  excluded 
as  empirical,  but  they  must  be  suppressed  (in  forming  the 


I, 


-106  — 

moral  motive)  as  anti-moral.  For  all  these  natural  inclina- 
tions reduce  themselves  to  a  desire  for  happiness,  to  self  love. 
And  while  this  is  not  evil  per  se,  yet  as  suggesting  itself  to  the 
will  as  its  motive,  its  controlling  power,  it  is  the  great  antag- 
onist which  duty  has  always  to  meet.  So  far  as  anything  is 
done  from  inclination  as  motive,  it  is  still  non-moral;  nay, 
immoral,  as  representing  the  victory  of  inclination  over  duty. 
It  is  not  enough  even  that  the  right  thing  (the  thing  conform- 
able to  duty)  be  done;  it  must  be  done  out  of  respect  for  latv 
as  motive.  The  consciousness  of  law,  of  authoritative  obliga- 
tion (while  furnishing  no  concrete  material)  is  thus  necessary 
to  give  to  all  material,  to  every  special  act,  its  motivation,  if  the 
act  is  to  be  done  morally.  This  conflict  of  inclination  and 
law,  and  the  use  of  the  idea  of  law  as  motive,  occur  not  simply 
at  critical  reconstructive  points,  but  with  each  and  every  act. 
The  ideal  moral  character  would  be  he  whom  the  practical 
judgment  of  men  unhesitatingly  terms  a  moral  pedant.*  (For 
this  account  see  Abbott's  trans.,  pp.  9-20;  54-56;  105-116). 

Kant's  position  evidently  involves  two  questions,  questions 
which  are  the  analogue  of  what  we  have  previously  considered  as 
'ideal'  or  'intention,'  and  as  'motive'  respectively;  the  rational 
content  of  the  moral  will,  and  the  propulsive,  dynamic  quality  of 
this  content.  Or,  putting  the  first  problem  in  terms  of  Kant's 
own  position,  how  can  a  consciousness  of  will  in  general,  a  con- 
sciousness of  law  universal,  be  transformed  into  consciousness 

*  The  extent  to  which  Kant  carries  this  may  be  well  seen  by  this 
account  of  the  good  man  in  distress  (Abbott,  p.  112).  "He  still 
lives  only  because  it  is  his  duty,  not  because  he  finds  anything  pleas- 
ant in  life."  For  my  own  part  it  seems  less  an  exaggeration  to  say 
that  a  man  who  consciously  lives  simply  because  it  is  his  duty  to 
live  is  a  self-absorbed  egotist  or  a  moral  pedant  and  valetudinarian. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  upon  occasion  of  wreckage  of  hopes  and 
habits,  failure  of  concrete  interest  in  life  may  arise.  But  surely, 
upon  such  occasion,  it  is  one's  "  duty  "  to  bestir  one's  self  to  find 
something  worth  while  in  life — not  merely  to  live  from  a  sense 
of  duty. 


—  107  — 

of  specific  volition,  of  particular  acts  required;  how  can  the 
'form'  get  concrete  tilling?  This  is  a  question  which  must  be 
met.  However  universal  the  law  may  be,  all  acts  are  specific, 
individual;  there  must  be  something  in  the  law  that  gives 
instruction  as  to  the  special  duty  which  the  general  law 
imposes  in  the  given  act.  How  do  we  get  from  the  mere  con- 
sciousness that  duty  is  duty,  to  the  consciousness  that  truth 
telling,  that  purity,  etc.,  are  duties?  How  do  we  get  to  the 
consciousness  that  my  duty,  in  the  present  situation,  is  just 
thus  and  so?  The  second  question  is:  how  can  the  conscious- 
ness of  duty  get  sufficient  hold  upon  the  agent  to  interest  him, 
to  move  him  to  act  for  its  realization  ?  This  problem  is  par- 
ticularly acute  in  the  Kantian  ethics,  because  it  is  through  the 
agent  as  instrument,  in  any  case,  that  the  law  must  be  executed, 
and  Kant  has  reduced  the  agent,  qua  agent,  to  a  mere  seeker 
for  happiness  as  already  given  in  experience. 

I.  According  to  Kant,  instruction  as  to  concrete  acts  pro- 
ceeds from  the  very  universality  of  the  law.  Universality,  even 
in  its  most  formal  interpretation,  means  self-ideutity,  non-con- 
tradiction. Morality  requires  consciousness  of  a  universal 
law,  but  a  universal  law,  by  its  very  nature,  must  be  one  which 
can  maintain  itself  without  contradiction.  Hence  the  general 
consciousness  of  duty  may  be  thus  translated.  '  Act  only  on 
that  motive  which  can  become  a  universal  law '  or  act  upon 
the  same  basis  on  which  you  would  act,  if  you  were  an  omni- 
potent Being,  so  that  your  principle  of  action  were  made  a  law 
of  nature.  (Abbott,  pp.  38-42;  115;  55-56;  119;  133;  161- 
162). 

The  way  in  which  the  universal  imperative  'Do  thy  duty,' 
thus  becomes  transformed  into  the  particular  imperatives  'do 
this,  that  and  the  other  specific  thing'  may  be  illustrated  as 
follows : 

(a)  Some  one,  wearied  by  what  he  conceives  to  be  the 
entire  misery  of  life  proposes  to  commit  suicide,  but  he  asks 
himself  whether  this  maxim  based  on  the  principle  of  self-love 


-108  — 

could  become  a  universal  law  of  nature;  and  "we  see  at  once 
that  a  system  of  nature  in  which  the  very  feeling,  whose  office 
is  to  compel  men  to  the  preservation  of  life,  should  lead  men 
by  a  universal  law  to  death,  cannot  be  conceived  without  con- 
tradiction." That  is  to  say,  the  principle  of  the  motive  which 
would  lead  a  man  to  suicide  cannot  be  generalized  without 
becoming  contradictory  —  it  cannot  be  made  a  law  universal. 

(6)  An  individual  wishes  to  borrow  money  which  he 
knows  that  he  cannot  repay.  Can  the  maxim  of  this  act  be 
universalized?  Evidently  not:  "a  system  of  nature  in  which 
it  should  be  a  universal  law  to  promise  without  performing,  for 
the  sake  of  private  good,  would  contradict  itself,  for  then  no 
one  would  believe  the  promise — the  promise  itself  would 
become  impossible  as  well  as  the  end  it  had  in  view." 

(c)  A  man  finds  that  he  has  certain  powers,  but  is  disin- 
clined to  develop  them.     Can  he  make  the  maxim  of  such  con- 
duct a  universal  law?     He  cannot  will  that  it  should  become 
universal.     "As  a  rational  being,  he  must  will  that  faculties 
be  developed." 

(d)  A  prosperous  individual  is  disinclined  to  relieve  the 
misery  of   others.     Can  his  maxim  be  generalized?      "It  is 
impossible  to  will  that  such  a  principle  should  have  the  univer- 
sal validity  of  a  law  of  nature.     For  a  will  which  resolved  this 
would  contradict  itself,  inasmuch  as  many  cases  might  occur 
in  which  one  would  have  need  of  the  love  and  sympathy  of 
others,  and  in  which,  by  such  a  law  of  nature,  sprung  from  his 
own  will,  he  would  deprive  himself  of  all  hope  of  the  aid  he 
desires." 

See  Abbott's  trans.,  pp.  9-46.  Caird's  Critical  Philosophy 
of  Kant,  Vol.  II,  pp.  171-181;  209-212. 

CRITICISM.  That  a  valid  moral  motive  is  capable  of  gen- 
eralization may  be  admitted  without  question.  But  what  is 
the  nature  of  this  generalization,  and  what  is  implied  as  to  its 
relation  to  inclination — to  desire?  Is  generalization  possible 
only  on  the  basis  of  reason  standing  over  against  desire.  Nay, 


-109  — 

is  it  possible  at  all  on  such  a  basis  ?  Let  it  be  admitted  that 
truly  moral  action  involves  rationality  or  generalized  validity, 
does  this  rationality  proceed  from  a  faculty  outside  the  natural 
impulses  and  desires,  is  it  attained  only  by  abstraction  from 
them  ?  or  (to  state  the  alternative  theory  definitely)  is  not  ra- 
tionality, iiniversality,  found  in  the  co-ordination,  the  reduction 
to  a  harmonious  unity  of  the  impulses  and  desires  ?  Admit- 
ting that  the  moral  life  involves,  as  one  of  its  features,  a  cer- 
tain relative  opposition  of  sensuous  material  and  rational  form, 
are  form  and  content  separate  in  origin  and  purpose?  or  is  the 
"  form  ''  simply  the  ^movement  of  the  "  material  "  to  its  own 
organic  unity?  Or,  again,  admitting  that  it  is  often  helpful  to 
test  a  proposed  line  of  conduct  by  reference  to  the  capacity  of 
its  motive  to  be  universal  law,  are  we  to  understand  universal 
law  in  the  sense  of  uniformity,  of  bare  likeness  among  differ- 
ent circumstances,  or  is  the  universal  law  found  in  the  organi- 
zation of  the  different  conditions  ?  To  sum  all  these  questions 
up  in  one:  Are  we  to  do  an  act  in  its  universality,  or  because 
of  its  universality  ? 

These  points  may  be  tested  by  Kant's  own  illustrations- 
In  every  case  we  find  the  question  raised  is  not  whether  uni- 
versality is  the  motive,  but  whether  a  specific  motive  can  be 
generalized.  In  every  case,  also,  we  find  the  answer  to  the 
question  turning  not  upon  formal,  but  upon  material  identity. 
The  question  is  treated  as  if  it  were  one  concerning  the  char- 
acter of  the  content  involved.  There  is  nothing  formally  self- 
contradictory  in  the  idea  that  every  one  should,  from  self-love, 
shorten  life  when  its  continuance  promises  a  balance  of  harm. 
Contradiction  enters  only  when  there  is  postulated  a  system  of 
nature,  in  which  the  impulse  of  self-love  has  a  certain  definite 
quality— tending  toward  "improvement  of  life,"  Grant  this, 
and  there  is  no  difficulty  in  showing  that  the  general  system 
contradicts  itself  if  the  impulse  is  turned  against  itself.  It  is 
the  character  of  the  system  of  nature,  or  of  the  impulse,  which 
affords  the  real  criterion — material,  not  formal  considerations. 


-110  — 

So  in  the  other  cases.  A  social  system  and  the  impulse  to  bet- 
ter one's  self  through  the  assistance  of  others  would  both  contra- 
dict themselves  when  promises  were  made  not  to  be  kept.  It 
is  as  a  "rational  being,''  that  is,  as  a  person  with  a  certain 

definite  constitution,  that  one   wills   that   faculties  be  devel- 

* 
oped,   and    self-indulgence   contradicts   that  organization   of 

things  which  man  conceives  to  be  truly  rational.  And  so 
again  a  social  system  in  which  men  are  interdependent  would 
go  to  pieces  if  men  never  assisted  one  another.  In  every  case, 
the  contradiction  is  within  a  certain  assumed  structure  or  sys- 
tem. Presuppose  such  a  system,  and  it  is  simply  a  matter  of 
adequate  detailed  knowledge  to  discover  whether  a  given  line 
of  action  will  tend  to  reinforce  or  to  disintegrate  it.  The 
criterion  is  workable  and  .often  helpful,  but  it  is  in  no  way 
formal.  Universal  is  interpreted  as  falling  in  line  with  the 
maintenance  of  the  system  as  a  whole.  A  self-integrity,  ma* 
terial  self  consistency  is  the  real  standard.  In  this  sense,  every 
good  act  must  be  legislative;  it  must  execute  principles  which 
tend  to  the  maintenance  of  the  system  of  which  it  is  a  member. 

Not  only  do  Kant's  examples  all  go  against  a  formal  ration- 
ality and  point  to  a  rationality  which  is  none  other  than  the 
organization  of  content,  but  a  formal  universality  would  abso- 
lutely break  down.  If  I  kill  a  man  in  defence  of  my  family 
or  country,  I  cannot  will  that  everybody  should  always  kill;  if 
I  will  to  aid  a  man  by  charity,  I  cannot  will  that  everybody  at 
all  times  should  try  to  relieve  all  the  distress  that  comes  before 
him.  My  moral  imperative  is  to  kill  or  to  give,  but  I  cannot 
will  that  it  be  formally  universalized,  that  is,  be  made  a  uni- 
i  form  principle  of  action.  I  can  only  be  willing  that  where  all 
relevant  circumstances  are  the  same  the  same  principle  be  fol- 
lowed. In  other  words,  !  could  wish  my  motive  to  become 
general  law  only  in  so  far  as  the  particular  material  conditions 
have  been — not  excluded  from,  but — taken  into  the  motive. 

Reason,  then,  not  mere  sense,  must  constitute  the  law  of  the 
moral  will;  it  alone  can  substantiate  the  ideal.     But  this  '  prac- 


—Ill  — 

tical  reason'  is  not  a  faculty  separate  from  desire;  were  it  thus 
separate  it  could  furnish  no  directions  whatever  to  the  desire. 
It  could  but  demand  its  obliteration;  not  its  functioning  in  a 
specific  direction.  The  reason  that  consciousness  of  duty  al- 
ways involves  specification  into  .some  definite  requirement  is 
precisely  because  we  cannot  separate  the  consciousness  of  self 
as  a  whole  from  the  consciousness  of  a  particular  desire  of  the 
self.  Take  the  former  in  its  adequate  differentiation  and  it 
becomes  the  latter,  just  as  the  consciousness  of  a  particular  de- 
sire conceived  in  its  relations,  not  abstractly,  is  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  whole  moving  self. 

Duty  as  Motive.  We  turn  now  to  the  other  aspect  of  the 
question.  How  is  it,  upon  Kant's  theory,  that  the  conscious- 
ness of  law  universal  becomes  an  interest — a  conception  which 
takes  hold  practically  and  moves  to  execution;  how  does  it  be- 
come a  motor,  become  dynamic? 

Kant's  solution  maybe  summarized  as  follows:  The  moral 
law  must  of  itself  be  the  spring  to  action;  if  it  make  use  of 
some  feeling  already  in  existence  to  become  the  motive,  then 
an  act  will  be  performed  which  has  legality  (i.  e.,  outward 
conformity  to  duty)  but  not  morality,  because  not  springin 
from  a  purely  moral  motive.  "  The  essential  point  is  that  the 
agent  be  determined  simply  by  the  moral  law,  not  only  with- 
out the  co-operation  of  sensible  impulses,  but  even  to  the  re- 
jection of  all  such."  (Abbott,  p.  165).  Thus  the  moral  law 
snubs  the  impulses,  and  in  so  far  gives  rise  to  the  feeling  of 
humiliation;  the  pretension  of  the  agent  to  worth  in  himself 
(self-conceit)  is  struck  down,  and  his  effort  to  be  happy  (self- 
love)  is  deprived  of  all  valid  claim  to  control.  Here  then  we 
have  one  feeling,  humility,  which  tho'  itself  sensuous  (or  pa- 
thological) is  yet  originated  by  reason.  Moreover,  this  nega- 
tive feeling  of  humility  gets  the  obstacles  (self-conceit  and 
self-love)  to  the  moral  law  out  of  the  way,  and  thus  is  the 
same  as  so  much  positive  impetus  added  to  the  law.  It  is 
equivalent  to  a  feeling  of  respect,  reverence  for  law.''  "Hu- 


—  112  — 

miliation  on  the  sensuous  side  is  an  elevation  of  the  moral  es- 
teem for  the  law  itself  on  the  rational  side"  (p  171).  Rever- 
ence is  thus  not  simply  a  motive  to  morality,  "  it  is  morality  it- 
self viewed  subjectively  as  a  motive;  for  our  practical  reason, 
by  rejecting  the  rival  claims  of  self-love,  gives  authority  to  the 
law  which  now  alone  has  influence.''  (p.  168;  seethe  whole  of 
Ch.  3,  of  the  Analytic  of  Practical  Reason). 

CRITICISM.  Criticism  turns  here  upon  the  relation  assumed 
to  exist  between  reason  and  sensibility  as  the  system  of  im- 
pulses. It  may  be  urged  that  Kant's  position  is  in  unstable 
equilibrium.  If  the  relation  between  reason  and  sense  is  as 
external  and  mechanical  as  he  makes  it,  the  operations  which 
he  describes  cannot  occur;  or,  if  these  operation  do  take  place, 
the  relation  must  be  conceived  as  so  organic  and  intrinsic  as  to 
make  necessary  an  entire  reconstruction  of  the  theory  of 
desire. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  sheer  assumption  that  the  sensuous 
impulses  may  be  adequately  described  under  the  heading  of 
self-love,  in  any  sense  in  which  self-love  is  equivalent  to  seek- 
ing for  pleasures.  Kant  retains  the  whole  substructure  of  the 
hedonistic  psychology  of  desire;  sees  the  evils  which  result 
ethically  from  it,  and  then  adds  on  the  top  story  of  reason  as 
an  offset.  If  the  discussion  already  had  (pp.  46-50)  is  of 
weight,  the  true  course  is  to  make  over  the  theory  of  desire. 

If,  however,  impulse  and  desire  are  as  self-absorbed  as 
Kant  declares  them  to  be,  we  must  question  the  adequacy  of 
the  machinery  by  which  Kant  makes  law  a  motor.  If  there  is 
no  intrinsic  connection  between  desire  and  reason,  how  can 
the  former,  even  when  checked  and  held  in  by  reason,  give  rise 
to  the  feeling  of  moral  humiliation?  This  presupposes  some 
moral  capacity  already  in  the  desires;  something  capable  of 
recognizing  the  authority  and  value  of  law — which  is  not  only 
the  thing  to  be  explained,  but  also  impossible  if  desire  has 
the  purely  low  and  selfish  character  Kant  attributes  to  it.  At 
most,  the  desire  would  simply  feel  restraint,  coercion,  and 


—  113  — 

would  be  correspondingly  impatient  and  desirous  of  breaking 
away — the  reverse  of  humility.*  When  Kant  changes  the 
negative  feeling  of  humiliation  into  a  positive  one  of  reverence, 
it  simply  attributes  even  more  frankly  some  kind  of  positive 
moral  capacity  to  impulse.  That  the  feeling  is  supposed  to 
originate  from  reason,  emphasizes  rather  than  avoids  the  diffi- 
culty. If  the  moral  law  can  transform  itself  into  feeling;  if 
reason  can  become  an  impulse,  then  feeling  and  impulse  can- 
not be  so  depraved  as  Kant  has  already  defined  them  to  be. 
When  Kant  says  (p.  170),  the  agent  "can  never  get  enough, 
when  he  has  laid  aside  self-conceit,  of  contemplation  of  the 
majesty  of  law,  and  the  soul  believes  itself  elevated  in  propor- 
tion as  it  sees  the  moral  law  elevated  above  it  and  its  frail 
nature"  there  is  something  intrinsically  akin  to  law  ascribed 
to  the  "frail  nature"  of  the  soul.  It  is  simply  a  round-about 
way  of  saying  that  the  "soul"  is  not  so  frail  after  all,  if  only 
it  be  given  a  chance. 

Moreover  the  whole  question  is  begged  from  the  start.  It 
is  only  in  so  far  as  the  reason  is  already  itself  impulsive  or 
moving  that  it  can  check  and  restrain  the  sense -nature  and 
thus  occasion  humility.  To  hold  that  "  whatever  diminishes 
the  obstacles  to  an  activity,  furthers  this  activity  itself"  (p.  171) 
is  to  admit  that  reason  already  possesses  an  active,  self -realiz- 
ing  power,  i.  e.,  is  impulsive. 

The  further  difficulty  in  the  separation  of  sense  and  reason 
may  be  seen  in  the  utter  inability  to  answer,  from  Kant's 
standpoint,  the  question  as  to  why,  in  a  given  case,  the  moral 
law  does  or  does  not  become  a  motive.  I  do  not  mean  simply 
that  it  can  not  give  a  detailed  account — perhaps  no  theory 
can  do  that.  But  it  cannot  point  to  any  method  of  approach- 
ing the  question.  Failure  cannot  be  due  to  lack  of  authorita- 
tive presence  of  the  moral  reason — that  is  always  there.  It 

*  It  is  worth  notice  that  Plato,  who  has  substantially  the  same 
dualism  between  reason  and  appetite,  is  obliged  to  bring  in  a  third 
and  mediating  power,  the  active  impulses,  (spiritedness),  to  bridge 
the  gulf. 


—  114  — 

cannot  be  due  to  the  mere  presence  or  agency  of  the  sen- 
suous impulses — they  are  always  present  and  always  selfishly 
urgent.  There  is  absolutely  no  connecting  link  by  which  to 
indicate  any  explanation  of  why  the  machinery  of  humiliation 
and  reverence  should  get  itself  adequately  into  operation  in 
some  cases  and  fail  in  others.  We  are  thrown  back  on  bare 
chance.  The  ideas  of  approval,  blame,  responsibility  are  made 
meaningless.  All  this  because  the  actual  concrete  unity  of 
individual  character  is  surrendered  and  the  two  abstractions  of 
sense  and  reason  substituted. 

Thus  far  we  have  taken  Kant  purely  on  his  own  ground. 
It  may  be  added  that,  historically,  reverence  seems  to  have  no 
special  priority  or  moral  preeminence  over  motives  like  patriot- 
ism, manliness,  desire  for  community  esteem  and  recognition; 
that  when  it  did  appear  it  took,  until  the  development  of  spec- 
ialized technical  reflection  (like  Kant's  own),  the  form  not  of 
recognition  of  superiority  of  moral  law  as  such  over  sensuous 
impulse,  but  the  recognition  that  the  community  welfare  is 
higher  in  its  claims  than  the  immediate  pleasures  and  pains  of 
the  agent.  (See  for  example,  Plato,  Laws,  647,  649,  671,  on 
reverence  as  fear  of  pain  attached  to  right  objects).  If  we  turn 
from  theoretical  analysis  to  actual  life,  it  is  at  once  evident  that 
to  make  reverence  for  duty  the  sole  motive  would  lead  to  a  Phar- 
isaism which  must  deny  morality  to  the  vast  masses  of  man- 
kind, and  permit  it  only  to  a  few  who  have  attained  a  cer- 
tain stage  of  intellectual  abstraction. 

Upon  the  whole  question,  positively,  it  may  be  said :  ( 1 ) 
The  truth  in  Kant's  main  contention  is  adequately  recognized 
in  the  statement  that  an  action  is  to  be  done  as  duty,  that  is, 
for  its  own  intrinsic  meaning  independent  of  any  reflex  advan- 
tage, but  not  for  duty.  The  latter  makes  an  abstraction  of 
duty,  reduces  the  act  to  a  mere  means,  and  thus  introduces 
division  and  lessens  interest  (See  pp.  85-87).  (2)  The  con- 
sciousness of  the  opposition  between  desire  and  duty,  with  the 
correlative  feelings  of  humility  and  reverence,  arises  not  essen- 


—  115  — 

tially,  by  the  nature  of  each,  but  historically — that  is,  when 
the  appearance  of  a  more  comprehensive  and  organic  end  de- 
mands a  readjustment  of  desires,  demand  that  they  attach 
themselves  to  the  new  end,  instead  of  following  their  past 
course. 

Kant's  account,  therefore,  strengthens  our  original  analysis. 
The  sense  of  the  majesty  and  inviolability  of  duty  is  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  moving,  the  functioningself  as_agaJ£st  a 
partial  habit,  which  in  its  narrow  self-assertion,  tends  to  be- 
come isolated  and  static,  instead  of  connected  and  instrumental. 
The  moral  feeling  of  humility  is  in  its  essence  the  continued 
attitude  of  not  hanging  on  to  attainment  for  its  own  sake — of 
recognizing  that  it  has  no  worth  save  as  changed  into  power. 
Beverence  is  the  correlative  continued  openness  of  will  and 
interest  to  new  and  larger  demands  (p.  75).  They  require 
not  the  absolute  opposition  of  a  higher  and  lower  nature  to 
explain  them,  but  the  relative  opposition  between  differen- 
tiation and  inter-connection  of  impulses  and  habits. 

Convenient  accounts  and  criticisms  of  Kant's  Ethics  will  be 
found  in  Caird,  Critical  Philosophy  of  Kant,  Vol.  II;  Muir- 
head,  Elements,  pp.  112-124;  Mackenzie,  Manual,  pp.  55-70. 

SECTION  XXXVII.— HEDONISTIC  THEORY  OF  OBLIGATION. 

The  problem  of  duty  for  the  hedonist  assumes  the  converse 
aspect  from  that  presented  to  the  Kantian.  For  the  lat- 
ter, the  main  difficulty  is  in  showing  how  the  consciousness 
of  law,  proclaimed  by  reason,  should  come  into  working  rela- 
tions, intellectual  and  motor,  with  desire,  so  great  is  the  as- 
sumed opposition.  For  the  hedonist,  the  difficulty  lies  in  get- 
ting enough  opposition  to  desire  to  subject  the  latter  to  author- 
ity*— or  in  getting  that  kind  of  opposition  which  should  give 
rise  to  a  feeling  of  duty  rather  than  of  coercion.  Upon  the 
basis  of  hedonism,  it  may  be  said  that  it  is  to  an  agent's  profit 
or  advantage  or  superior  interest  to  take  such  and  such  a 

*Bentham  felt  this  difficulty  that  jitWished  to  banish  the  very 
term  '  duty  '  from  ethical  discussion.  \* 


r 


—  116  — 

course,  but  how  can  it  be  said  to  be  his  duty?  Pleasure  is  the 
good,  and  man's  natural  desire  is  for  pleasure.  How  can  there 
be  any  checking  of  desire,  save  as  another  desire,  promising 
more  pleasure,  presents  itself  ?  Such  a  checking  as  this  has 
none  of  the  elements  of  the  consciousness  of  duty. 

The  traditional  hedonistic  answer  has  been  through  the 
idea  of  sanction,  some  foreseen  evil  attached  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  a  desire  which,  in  itself,  would  give  pleasure.* 

The  essence  of  Bain's  theory  is  the  transfer  within  the 
mind  of  the  agent  of  a  relation,  now  existing  between  elements 
of  his  own  conduct,  which  originally  existed  between  the 
agent's  conduct  and  the  behavior  of  others.  The  ideas  of  au- 
thority (command)  and  obedience  are  correlative.  The  lesson 
of  obedience  is  taught  from  the  outset  of  life  to  every  agent. 
"  The  child's  susceptibility  to  pleasure  and  pain  is  made  use 
of  to  bring  about  this  obedience,  and  a  mental  association  is 
rapidly  formed  between  this  obedience  and  apprehended  pain, 
more  or  less  magnified  by  fear."  The  knowledge  that  punish- 
ment may  be  continued  until  the  act  is  discontinued  "leaves  on 
the  mind  a  certain  dread  and  awful  impression  as  connected 
with  forbidden  actions."  This  "dread  of  offending"  is  the 
germ  of  the  consciousness  of  duty.  It  is  reinforced,  first,  by 
the  sentiment  of  love  or  respect  for  the  person  imposing  the 
command — which  brings  in  a  new  dread,  "  that  of  giving  pain 
to  a  beloved  object."-  Then  a  tertiary  factor  comes  in:  "  When 
the  young  mind  is  able  to  take  notice  of  the  use  and  meaning 

*  Besides  the  authors  considered  below,  this  conception  has 
been  developed  by  Paley,  Moral  Philosophy,  in  a  theological  form 
(virtue  is  "  doing  good  to  mankind,  in  obedience  to  the  will  of  God, 
and  for  the  sake  of  everlasting  happiness");  by  Austin,  Jurispru- 
dence in  jural  form;  by  Bentham,  in  jural  and  social  form,  in  his, 
Principle  of  Morals  and  Legislation,  and  by  J.  S.  Mill,  notes  on  his 
father's  Analysis  of  the  Human  Mind,  Vol.  II,  pp.  324-326  and  Utili- 
tarianism, ch.  V.  It  should  be  remarked,  however,  that  Mill's  ac- 
count only  touches  the  question  why  we  judge  the  conduct  of 
others  from  the  standpoint  of  duty;  it  does  not  answer  the  question 
why  a  man  conceives  something  as  obligatory  upon  himself. 


—  117  — 

of  the  prohibitions  imposed  upon  it,  and  to  approve  of  the  end 
intended  by  them,  a  new  motive  is  added  on  and  begirds  the 
action  with  a  three  fold  fear."  This  latter  fear  is  more  defi- 
nitely stated  as  follows:  "If  the  duty  prescribed  has  been 
approved  of  by  the  mind  as  protective  of  the  general  interests 
of  persons  engaging  our  sympathies,  the  violation  of  this  on 
our  part  affects  us  with  all  the  pain  that  we  feel  from  the  in- 
flicting an  injury  upon  those  interests."  (See  Bain,  Emotions 
and  Will,  pp.  285-87). 

Now  this  sentiment  of  fear  or  reverence  attached  to  super- 
ior power,  "  at  first  formed  and  cultivated  by  the  relations  of 
actual  command  and  obedience,  may  come  at  last  to  stand 
upon  an  independent  foundation.''  The  third  factor  men- 
tioned above  seems,  from  Bain's  further  account,  to  be  not  so 
much  a  factor  as  a  revolution.  When  the  child  appreciates 
the  "reasons  for  the  command,  the  character  of  conscience  is 
entirely  transformed"  (E.  and  W.  p  288).  The  form  of  au- 
thority and  subjection  remains,  although  the  authority  is  no 
longer  imposed  from  without.  Conscience  becomes  an  "ideal 
resemblance  of  public  authority"  (E.  and  W.  p  264;  the  refer- 
ences are  all  to  the  third  ed. ,  London,  ]  888) ;  "  it  is  an  imita- 
tion within  ourselves  of  the  government  without  us"  (p.  285). 
When  the  thing  which  a  person  regards  as  obligatory  is  so  far 
from  being  enforced  by  social  pressure,  that  it  contradicts  re- 
ceived moral  ideas,  "  even  then  the  notion,  sentiment  or  form, 
of  duty  is  derived  from  what  society  imposes,  although  the 
particular  matter  is  quite  different.  Social  obedience  develops 
in  the  mind  originally  the  feeling  and  habit  of  obligation,  and 

this  remains  when  the  individual  articles  are  changed 

The  person  has  so  assimilated  in  his  mind  the  laws  of  his  own 
coining  to  the  imperative  requirements  of  society,  that  he 
reckons  them  as  of  equal  force  as  duty"  (p.  289  note.  See 
also  pp.  467-73  and  his  Moral  Science,  pp.  20-21  and  41^3). 

CBITICISM.  Now  just  as  we  did  not  question  the  principle 
of  generalization,  but  simply  the  way  in  which  Kant  interprets 


-118  — 

it,  so  here  the  question  is  not  as  to  the  account  given  by  Bain, 
but  rather  as  to  its  real  meaning,  especially  as  to  its  consistency 
with  hedonism.  ( 1 )  Admitting  that  a  consciousness  of  duty 
arises  historically  in  connection  with  commands  and  fear  of 
punishment,  does  it  follow  that  the  sense  of  duty  is,  even  at  the 
outset,  equivalent  to  fear  of  pain?  (2)  And  how  can  this 
whole  content  of  fear  drop  out  at  the  proper  moment  and  leave 
the  pure  sense  of  duty — the  man  a  moral  law  to  himself  ? 

(1)  In  so  far  as  there  is  any  moral  consciousness  at  all, 
any  sense  of  authority,  we  must  say  that  from  the  start  there 
is  a  sense  of  the  reasonableness  of  the  command,  and  not  a 
mere  dread  of  the  pain  to  result  from  its  infringement.  The 
latter  alone  gives  rise,  even  at  a  very  early  age,  to  a  sense  not 
of  duty  and  authority,  but  of  wrong  and  smarting  injustice, 
or  else  to  apparent  acquiescence  while  the  one  commanding  is 
at  hand,  and  to  great  cleverness  in  evading  whenever  the  pres- 
sure is  removed.  Any  careful  observation  will  reveal  three 
cases:  (a)  that  in  which  it  is  necessary  to  prevent,  and  at 
once,  a  given  line  of  conduct — as  a  child's  going  into  a  fire. 
Here  the  motive  of  sheer  fright  may  be  appealed  to,  but  not  with 
any  moral  end,  or  with  reference  to  developing  a  sense  of  duty 
or  as  punishment;  but  simply  as  the  necessary  way  of  prevent- 
ing, under  the  circumstances,  the  occurrence  of  a  given  overt  act. 
Every  sensible  parent  appeals  to  this  motive  when  necessary, 
but  does  not  assume  too  easily  that  it  is  necessary;  and  tries 
to  replace  it  by  more  rational  means  as  soon  as  possible,  (b) 
Second,  there  is  the  case  already  referred  to  of  using  the  dread 
of  punishment  per  se  as  motive.  This,  as  suggested,  is  so  far 
from  calling  into  being  the  sense  of  duty,  that  it  arouses  irrita- 
tion and  anger,  duplicity  and  slyness,  (c)  There  is  the  use 
of  punishment  to  draw  positive  attention  to  a  content  otherwise 
ignored — punishment  as  a  means  of  enforcing  an  idea  not 
strong  enough  to  make  its  own  way  in  an  immature  mind. 
The  first  case  is  non-moral,  the  second  immoral,  the  third 
alone  moral.  Here  again  careful  observation  will  reveal  that 


—  119  — 

punishment,  in  the  case  say  of  a  lie,  is  morally  effective  just 
in  the  degree  in  which  fear  of  it  does  not  operate  as  an  isolated 
motive,  but  is  the  emphasis  required  to  bring  out  the  undesir- 
able quality  of  the  act  itself.  It  is  a  means  of  revealing  the 
hatefulness,  the  repulsiveness  of  the  lie.  Bain  himself  speaks 
of  the  "  fear  of  offending,"  and  this  is  quite  other  than  the  fear 
of  punishment.  (2)  Only  in  so  far  as  punishment  is  a  means 
of  calling  attention  to  the  intrinsic  quality  of  the  act,  does  it 
afford  a  transition  to  the  third  stage — the  independent  consci- 
ence, or  one  which  recognizes  the  act  as  obligatory  because  of 
its  own  significance.  The  more  we  use  punishment  to  effect 
simply  a  dread  of  itself  the  more  surely  we  prevent  the  growth 
of  the  conscience  which  can  recognize  acts  as  valuable  "  in 
themselves."  Logically  and  practically  (so  far  as  the  theory 
is  acted  upon),  there  is  not  only  no  bridge  from  the  first  of 
Bain's  stages  to  the  last,  but  the  two  are  exclusive.  (For  some 
some  practical  phases  of  this  discussion,  see  the  Aug.  '94,  No. 
of  the  Pop.  Sci.  Mo.,  article  on  Chaos  in  Moral  Training). 

The  point  of  these  criticisms  is  that  Bain  unconsciously 
begs  the  whole  question.  The  authority  somehow  resides 
already  in  the  idea  (the  act  proposed)  and  the  agent  in  recog- 
nizing the  idea  purely,  must  recognize  its  authoritative  quality. 
The  punishment  simply  serves  to  bring  the  idea  adequately 
into  consciousness  (compare  what  is  said  pp.  84-5).  Punish- 
ment may  provide  the  psychological  conditions  (put  the  mind 
into  shape)  for  recognizing  authority,  but  cannot  possibly  con- 
stitute it.  Unless  the  positive  value,  capable  of  being  seen, 
already  reside  in  the  idea,  punishment  causes  either  rebellion 
or  servility  or  trickiness — or  a  mixture  of  all  three.  The 
question  is  still  untouched:  What  is  that  which  constitutes 
the  value  of  the  proposed  idea  so  supreme  that  it  is  authorita- 
tive, and  gives  some  rational  assurance  that  punishment, 
judiciously  used,  will  assist  the  growth  of  conscience?*  In 

*In  strict  logic,  the  term  'judiciously  used'  cannot  be  employed 
in  Bain's  theory.  Everything  falls  back  upon  the  mere  punishment, 
apart  from  its  relations  and  attachments;  there  is  no  duty  as 


—  120  — 

lack  of  a  better,  our  previous  answer  must  still  stand;  because 
the  act  proposed  stands  for  the  active,  the  functioning  and 
thus  the  ivhole  self,  while  the  agent  to  whom  it  appears  obliga- 
tory, or  authoritative,  is  the  static,  the  instrumental  (and  thus 
if  isolated,  the  partial )  self. 

SPENCER'S  THEORY  OF  OBLIGATION.  Spencer,  like  Bain,  holds 
that  the  sense  of  duty  orginates  from  social  pressure.  He 
emphasizes,  perhaps,  the  element  of  fear  less  than  that  of 
restraint — the  checking  of  the  immediate  impulse  or  desire. 
The  chief  inhibitory  agencies  in  the  history  of  the  race  have 
been  the  "visible  ruler,  the  invisible  ruler,  and  public  opinion" 
— the  policeman,  the  priest,  and  public  opinion,  as  someone 
has  alliteratively  summed  it  up.  These  restraining  agencies 
operate  mainly  through  fear — the  dread  awakened  of,  respect- 
ively, "legal  penalty,  supernatural  punishment  and  social 
reprobation."  As  in  Bain's  theory,  the  sense  of  restraint  thus 
originated  gradually  works  itself  free  from  the  incidents  of  its 
birth  and  growth,  and  asserts  itself  as  an  independent  factor 
in  consciousness.  The  favorite  hedonistic  analogy  is  the  love 
of  gold  on  the  part  of  the  miser —  a  love  which  can  have 
arisen  only  in  connection  with  the  special  benefits  derived 
from  the  gold,  but  which  finally  sets  itself  free  from  these 
accompaniments,  and  attaches  to  the  gold  per  se.  The  indi- 
vidual learns  to  connect  the  forseen  evil  effects  resulting 
intrinsically  from  the  satisfaction  of  a  given  present  impulse 
or  desire  with  the  feeling  of  compulsion,  and  this  representa- 
tive association  suffices  to  restraint  the  urgency  of  the  desire. 

The  "  essential  trait  in  the  moral  consciousness  is  the  con- 
trol of  some  feeling  or  feelings  by  some  other  feeling  or  feel- 
ings." (Principles  of  Ethics— Data— p.  113).  In  general, 
and  upon  the  average,  the  feelings  which  control  are  related 
to  those  controlled  as  the  compound  to  the  simple,  the  remote 

respects  the  use  of  punishment,  because  it  is  the  source  of  duty, 
just  as  in  Hobbes'  political  philosophy  the  sovereign,  being  the 
source  of  law,  cannot  be  subject  to  it. 


—  121  — 

to  the  proximate,  the  representative  to  the  preservative  (Data, 
pp.  103-109). 

The  connecting  link  with  the  element  of  social  coerciveness 
is  thus  found  by  Spencer:  "  Since  the  political,  religious,  and 
social  restraining  motives,  are  mainly  formed  of  represented 
future  results;  it  happens  that  the  representatives,  having 
much  in  common,  and  being  often  aroused  at  the  same  time, 
the  fear  joined  with  three  sets  of  them  becomes,  by  association, 
joined  with  the  fourth.  Thinking  of  the  extrinsic  effects  of  a 
forbidden  act,  excites  a  dread  which  continues  present  while 
the  intrinsic  effects  are  thought  of;  and  being  thus  linked 
with  these  intrinsic  effects  causes  a  vague  sense  of  moral  com- 
pulsion." And  from  this  Spencer  draws  the  logical  conclusion 
(logical  because  true  morality  refers  only  to  the  intrinsic 
effects  of  an  act,  p.  120)  that  the  "sense  of  duty  or  moral 
obligation  is  transitory,  and  will  diminish  as  fast  as  moraliza- 
tion  increases."  The  duty  comes  to  have  interest  of  itself, 
becomes  itself  pleasurable  if  persisted  in,  and  the  aspect  of 
coerciveness  dies  out.  (pp.  127-28). 

CBITICISM.  Insofar  as  Spencer's  theory  resembles  Bain's, 
the  same  criticism,  of  course,  holds.  External  compulsion 
(which  generates,  by  association,  the  feeling  of  self -compulsion) 
is  positively  anti-moral,  because  bringing  into  play  the  motive 
of  sheer  fear;  if  it  have  moral  potentiality  at  all,  even  in  fur- 
thering the  transitional  sense  of  obligation  at  a  certain  imper- 
fect stage  of  moral  development,  it  is  because  it  does  not 
operate  as  coercion,  but  as  bringing  to  light,  or  reinforcing 
against  opposition,  the  intrinsic  authoritativeness  of  the  acts 
proposed.  Spencer's  contention  that  with  moralization  the 
sense  of  duty  tends  to  disappear  is  a  recognition  of  the  im- 
moral character  of  the  sense  of  coercion.  But  the  contention, 
after  all,  only  emphasizes  the  difficulty.  Is  it  not  the  logical 
conclusion,  from  Spencer's  premises,  that  we  should  never  use 
or  appeal  to  the  sense  of  obligation ;  that,  from  the  outset,  we 
should  strive  to  prevent  the  growth'  of  this  feeling,  instead  of 


—  122  — 

encouraging  it  through  punishment,  blame,  etc.  ?  Or,  other- 
wise stated,  if  Spencer's  conclusion  is  correct,  we  must  con- 
demn all  the  social  agencies  which  develop  in  the  child  the 
sense  of  compulsion  (whether  external  or  self)  and  leave  the 
child  to  the  expression  of  his  own  impulses,  till  he  learns,  by 
intrinsic  reflection,  to  control  some  of  them.* 

In  the  other  factor  of  Spencer's  theory,  the  doctrine  of  in- 
trinsic control  as  connected  with  increasing  complexity,  remote- 
ness and  representativenes  of  ends,  we  have,  I  think,  an  approx- 
imation to  the  true  doctrine.  It  is,  indeed,  impossible  to  see  why 
.these  facts  should  of  themselves  confer  any  claims  to  control. 
Carlyle's  'do  the  thing  that  lies  nearest'  is  just  as  valuable  as 
Spencer's  remote  end.  Indeed,  Spencer  himself  calls  attention 
to  the  fact  that  cases  often  arise  where  the  simple  and  present 
desire  has  moral  supremacy  on  its  side.  He  gives,  however,  no 
explanation  of  why  one  or  other  has  this  claim,  this  supremacy. 
An  analysis  of  his  biological  accounts,  will  reveal  however,  that 
the  real  criterion  in  each  is  the  self  in  its  wholeness.  And  if 
we  translate  complexity,  remoteness,  etc.,  into  terms  of  standing 
for  the  self  as  a  whole,  the  moving,  functioning  self,  all  the 
mystery  vanishes.  It  is  not  qua  remote,  or  qua  proximate, 
that  an  end  exercises  authority,  but  as  comprehending  within 
itself  the  self  as  functional  unity.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
criterion  of  complexity,  it  seems  to  me,  will  always  work, 
because  the  complex,  by  its  very  definition,  represents  the  self 
as  organic  activity.  In  the  conflict,  say  of  hunger  impulse 
with  the  impulse  to  give  food  to  children  to  keep  them  alive, 

*  The  difficulty  is  only  increased  when  we  remember  that,  upon 
Spencer's  theory,  the  postponement  or  checking  of  a  desire  involves 
pain  and  the  sacrifice  of  pleasure,  and  thus,  absolutely  is,  bad,  even 
if  relatively  right.  Data,  pp.  183-84;  260-261.  The  reader  may  be 
reminded  that,  upon  the  theory  already  stated,  the  sense  of  duty 
ever  disappears  with  respect  to  certain  ends  as  these  become  ab- 
sorbed into  a  habit,  but  not  absolutely.  It  reconnects  itself  with 
those  other  ends,  which,  for  any  reason,  demand  readjustment  of 
habits. 


— ;i23— 

(the  example  given  by  Spencer,  p.  110)  the  former  may  be 
more,  not  less,  complex  than  the  latter,  and  is  more  complex 
whenever  its  fulfilment  is  a  condition  of  fulfilling  the  latter. 
In  this  case,  to  feed  one's  self  is  an  act  which,  psychologically, 
includes  within  itself  the  feeding  of  others.  The  same  may  be 
said  of  the  claims  of  health  as  respects  the  claims  of  meeting 
obligations  to  others;  in  so  far  as  the  former  is  supreme  it  is 
also  more  complex,  carrying  the  other  within  itself — repre- 
sentative, in  other  words,  of  the  whole  self.  We  repeat,  then, 
the  original  statement — the  sense  of  duty,  with  its  correlative 
phases  of  authority  and  subjection,  is  a  sense  of  the  supreme 
value  of  the  functional  self  and  the  relative,  or  instrumental 
value  of  the  structural  self.  Authority  is  not  to  be  identified 
with  coercion,  any  more  than  with  the  action  of  self  conceived 
as  a  blank  metaphysical  form. 


—  124  — 

CHAPTER  VIII. —FREEDOM  AND  RESPONSIBILITY. 
SECTION  XXXVIII. — THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  FREEDOM. 

The  volitional  has  been  denned  and  developed  as  the  med- 
iation of  activity,  at  first  impulsive  or  direct.  It  has  been 
shown  that  the  ideal  (intention),  with  the  deliberative  process, 
is  the  growth  of  the  mediation;  that  this  finds  its  completion 
in  the  standard  or  generalized  ideal.  But  the  end  and  law 
react  by  their  very  natures  into  the  direct  impulses,  and  pre- 
'sent  another  phase  of  moral  experience:  desire  and  conscious- 
ness of  good,  so  far  as  the  end  and  standard  reinforce  the 
immediate  tendencies  of  impulse  and  habit;  effort  and  con- 
sciousness of  duty,  so  far  as  this  reaction  checks  and  recon- 
structs. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  the  process  of  reaction  is  not 
one  which  follows  in  time  after  that  of  projection  of  ends  and 
recognition  of  law.  The  origin  and  growth  of  the  mediate, 
the  rational  content,  proceed  contemporaneously  with  its  use 

(in  reinforcing  and  in  checking  the  impulse  or  habits.  What- 
ever completes  the  development  of  the  ideal,  the  concrete 
recognition  of  the  end  and  principle  of  action,  completes  the 
habit  urging  forward  for  expression.  It  is  this  completion 
with  which  we  now  have  to  deal. 

The  completely  mediated  activity  is  what  we  term  a  deed. 
The  deed  cannot  be  distinguished  as  act  in  contrast  with  mere 
getting  ready  to  act.  The  whole  process  of  working  out  ends, 
of  selecting  means,  of  estimating  moral  values,  of  recognizing 
duty,  is,  as  we  have  seen,  one  of  activity  at  every  point;  it  is 
dynamic  and  propulsive  throughout.  The  deed  is  simply  this 
activity  focussed,  brought  to  a  head.  The  deed  is  the  activity, 
concluded;  it  is  the  '  round  up,'  and  in  this  conclusion  at  once 
(1)  defined,  marked  out,  and  (2)  unified. 

( 1 )  The  overt  act  or  deed  is  the  definition  of  self.  Up 
to  this  time  all  is  tentative;  it  is  the  experimenting  of  self  in 
this  direction  or  that,  seeking  outlet,  forming  and  revising  pos- 


—125  — 

sible  ends,  trying  on  this  satisfaction  and  that.  In  the  deed, 
this  movement  of  the  self  culminates;  the  activity  is  no  longer 
tentative,  but  definitive.  Up  to  this  time,  the  self  has  been 
exploring,  trying  to  find  self  and  to  come  to  consciousness. 
The  deed  is  the  net  result  of  the  exploration,  of  the  learning; 
it  exhibits  or  shows  what  the  self,  at  the  time,  is.  The  voyage 
of  discovery  is  summed  up  in  the  map  which  showHhe  limit, 
external  and  internal,  of  the  activity. 

(2)  This  culmination  of  activity  is  complete  coordination 
or  unification.  Starting  from  the  immediate,  impulsive  activ- 
ity, the  whole  intervening  development  may  be  regarded  as 
one  of  increasing  range  of  stimulation,  bringing  this  and  tha* 
further  habit  or  impulse  into  play.  This  increasing  range  or 
scope  of  action  is  not  merely  quantitative,  as  just  said,  it  finds 
a  limit,  an  end.  Now  this  limiting  principle  prevents  the  in- 
creasing waves  of  activity  from  being  mere  diffusive,  expan- 
sive outgoing  agitation  without  meaning.  This  principle,  con- 
fining and  determining  the  range  and  distribution  of  interven- 
ing activity,  is,  in  biological  terms,  the  function  of  the  organ- 
ism; in  pyschological  terms,  the  unity  of  the  self.  The  increase 
of  activity,  the  continued  suggestion  of  new  ends  and  tentative 
adoption  of  new  means,  does  not  go  on  ad  indefinitum,  but 
with  reference  to  a  whole — the  self.  The  deed  expresses  the 
attainment  of  this  whole. 

In  this  connection  we  must  recall  the  fact  that  a  moral 
struggle  means,  psychologically,  not  the  sacrifice  or  exclusion  of 
one  value  by  another,  but  its  inclusion,  comprehension  (pp.  31— 
32) ;  the  process  of  control  is  not  one  of  supression  of  desire  or 
habit,  but  one  of  directing,  using  it — making  it  a  tributary  fac-  ^ 
tor.  Physically,  outwardly,  the  deed  is  a  selection  of  one  im- 
pulse or  ideal,  and  a  rejection  of  the  other.  A  man  takes 
either  the  right  or  left  hand  road;  steals  or  remains  true  to  his 
trust;  is  self-indulgent,  or  puts  his  passions  to  the  service  of 
others.  But  morally  the  meaning,  the  value,  of  this  defined, 
or  one-sided  deed,  has  the  competing  of  ends  and  habits  ab- 


-126  — 

sorbed  into  it;  the  process  of  completion  determines  the  signi- 
ficance of  the  deed  in  and  to  the  agent's  own  consciousness.* 

We  have  various  words  to  designate  the  completion,  the 
finality  of  the  process;  some  naming  it  from  the  side  of  the 
impulsive,  others  of  its  intellectual  phase.  Preference  f  brings 
out  the  definiteness,  the  individuality  of  the  conclusion.  So 
also  does  determination,  with  the  added  shade  of  wholeness 
in  its  idea  of  firmness  and  certainty;  decision  and  resolution 
name  it  considered  both  as  the  outcome  of  a  complex,  tangled  in- 
tellectual process  and  as  indicating  the  single  volitional  atti- 
tude assumed  for  the  future.  All  these  various  implications 
are  pretty  well  blended  in  the  term  'choice',  and  thus  that  is 
the  most  characteristic  moral  term. 

The  essence  of  this  account  of  choice  is  obviously  the  con- 
ception of  it  as  the  normal  outcome  of  the  process  of  will,  the 
conclusion  of  a  process  which  in  its  primary  stage  is  named 
impulse,  and  at  a  later  stage  deliberation  (intellectual)  and 

*  This  gives  another  point  of  view  for  criticizing  Martineau's 
theory  of  preferential  selection  of  one  of  two  impulses  in  the  scale  of 
values.    It  fails  to  note  how  the  value  of  the  impulse  chosen  (that 
is,  its  moral  character)  includes  the  rejected  impulses.    It  also  shows 
why  an  agent  who  is  continually  conscious  that  he  has  done  an  act 
of  self-sacrifice  is  still  immoral;  he  has  not  succeeded  in  compre- 
hending the  'sacrificed'  end  within  the  act  performed.    It  is  still 
^  there,  asserting  itself  on  its  own  isolated  account.    Paradoxical  as 
i  the  phrase  may  sound,  the  fact  that  it  is  felt  as  sacrifice  shows  that 
I  the  sacrifice  is  not  yet  made.    On  any  basis  save  that  of  the  text, 
j  the  moral  life  reduces  itself,  as  Emerson  says,  to  mere  expiation  for 
something  else;  it  never  asserts  itself  as  of  positive  value.    See 
Emerson's  Essay  on  Self -Reliance,  p.  54. 

t  Preference  seems  sometimes  to  be  opposed  to  choice,  as  when 
one  says,  'I  should  prefer  that,  but  I  choose  to  do  this.'  But  this  is 
only  an  abstract  preference;  it  says,  under  other  circumstances,  with 
changed  conditions,  I  snould  prefer  otherwise.  But  with  things 
as  they  are,  the  agent  prefers  what  he  chooses.  Preference,  how- 
ever, undoubtedly  has  more  reference  to  the  natural,  unmoralized 
(unmediated)  aspect.  We  prefer  things;  we  choose  acts  or  lines  of 
action. 


-127  — 

S 

effort  (emotional).     It  i^b  thus  opposed  to  those  conceptions 

which  regard  all  that  goes  on  before  as  non- voluntary,  and  re- 
gards choice  alone  as  act  of  will.  The  latter  makes  will,  self, 
personality,  an  entity  existing  outside  of  the  operations  of  im- 
pulse, habit,  desire,  reflection  etc.,  and  coming  in  ab  extra  to 
settle  a  process  which  in  itself  is  endless,  and  to  import  an 
ethical  element  into  a  process  otherwise  mechanical.  Upon 
the  basis  of  psychological  analysis,  there  is  no  more  a  dualism 
between  non-volitional  data  on  one  side,  and  will,  on  the 
other,  than  there  is  in  the  process  of  intellectual  judgment. 
We  do  not  have,  in  the  latter,  two  separate  faculties,  one,  that 
of  gathering  data,  weighing,  rejecting  and  accepting  evidence, 
the  other,  an  outside  power,  reason,  to  draw  the  inference. 
The  whole  process  is  rational  in  form,  and  is  determined  by 
rational  considerations  as  to  its  content;  the  drawing  of  the 
inference  is  the  conclusion  arrived  at  when  the  data  assuma 
coherency  and  completeness — that  is,  exhibit  neither  such 
mutual  contradictions  as  to  stimulate  the  mind  to  make  them 
over,  nor  such  gaps  as  to  set  the  mind  hunting  up  more 
facts. 

Self-made  problems  incapable  of  solution,  result  from  the 
indentification  of  volitional  action  with  choice  alone,  difficulties 
which  are  not  existent  upon  the  other  theory.  Such  questions 
as  these  arise  only  to  be  unanswerable :  What  induces  the  will 
to  interfere  ?  how  does  it  know  the  proper  time  at  which  to  do 
so?  is  it  unerring  in  its  selection  of  time,  or  may  it  operate  too 
soon  or  too  late?  are  the  sources  of  error  in  the  will  or  in  the 
outside  soliciting  elements?  upon  what  basis  does  the  will 
select  this  side  rather  than  that  ?  etc. ,  etc., — all  the  intermin- 
able discussions,  in  fact,  which  since  the  time  of  the  scholastics 
have  haunted  the  problem  of  freedom  of  will.  No  justification 
in  the  psychology  of  will  can  be  found  for  the  view  which 
gives  rise  to  these  insoluble  difficulties;  whether  the  explana- 
tion of  moral  freedom  and  responsibility  demands  them  will 
be  considered  later. 


—  128  — 

The  foregoing  account  implies  that  choice  and  doing  (the 
deed)  are  morally  identical.  This  appears  to  run  against  the 
conviction  of  practical  sense  that  we  can  choose  to  do  a  thing 
at  a  future  time,  made  up  our  mind  to  act  in  a  certain  way,  at 
a  distant  period — that  choice  is  not  doing  but  getting  ready  io 
do.  Cannot  a  man  choose  to  eat  without  beginning  to  eat, 
choose  to  go  to  Europe  without  at  once  starting  ?  The  consid- 
eration of  this  difficulty  will  serve  to  bring  out  more  clearly 
the  identity. 

A  more  appropriate  name  than  choice  for  conclusions  of 
the  sort  indicated  is  decision.  The  question  is  not  a  merely 
verbal  one;  in  some  cases  only  the  intellectual  phase  of 
the  process  is  developed,  and,  accordingly,  the  conclusion  is 
still  abstract,  hypothetical.  To  say  that  I  have  decided  to  act 
in  a  certain  way  if  attacked  by  a  burglar,  or  to  go  to  Europe, 
-etc.,  means  that  intellectually  I  present  a  certain  hypothetical 
case  to  myself  and  draw  the  appropriate  conclusion.  It  is  an 
anticipation  or  prior  rehearsal  which  gets  the  various  relevant 
conditions  before  one  and  thus  shortens  and  facilitates  the 
actual  choice  when  that  is  necessary.  We  decide  to  do  so  and 
so,  if  something  happens.  We  decide  not  to  act,  but  how  to 
act.  The  categorical,  concrete  implication  of  the  whole  self 
does  not  occur,  hence  no  deed  and  no  true  choice. 

In  cases  which  are  not  intellectual  preparations,  choice  is 
really  a  beginning  to  act  on  the  spot.  If  I  really  choose  to 
eat  an  apple,  I  at  once  bend  all  my  energies  to  getting  it; 
if  I  do  not  begin  on  the  spot,  choice  is  still  hypothetical; 
I  choose  to  when  I  get  a  good  chance.  If  I  really  choose 
to  go  to  Europe,  while  outwardly  a  spectator  may  not  see  the 
action  commence,  psychologically  the  deed  at  once  begins.  I 
now,  at  once,  act  differently  than  I  would  otherwise,  and  this 
different  way  of  acting  is  an  actual  part,  under  the  circum- 
stances of  going  to  Europe. 

The  moral  meaning  of  this  identity  of  choice  and  act  comes 
out  in  such  an  illustration  as  this:  A  person  virtually  says,  '  I 


—  129  — 

decide,  I  will  to  reform,  but  circumstances  are  such  that  I 
must  do  this  one  evil  act;  to-morroW  I  positively  will  do  bet- 
ter.' Such  a  person  is  simply  deceiving  himself.  He  still 
wills  the  evil  thing  and  that  only;  the  supposition  that  he  has 
chosen  another  line,  and  that  this  is  an  exception  which 
doesn't  count,  is  one  of  the  best  (and  commonest)  devices  im- 
aginable for  keeping  one's  self  from  squarely  facing  things  as 
they  are.  The  person  who  wills  merely  to  do  something  in 
the  future  is  in  an  impossible  state  psychologically  and  a  dan- 
gerous one  morally.  The  identity  of  choice,  deed  and  will  is 
the  culmination  of  psychology,  as  well  as  the  supreme  moral 
lesson. 

SECTION  XXXIX. — THE  ETHICS  OF  FREEDOM  AND  RESPONSIBILITY* 

The  ethical  conception  of  freedom  is  the  recognition  of  the 
meaning  for  conduct  of  the  identity  of  self  and  act,  of  will  and 
deed.     There  is  no  factor  in  the  act  foreign  or  alien  to  the 
agent's  self;  it  is  himself  through  and  through.     No  action  is 
moral  (that  is,  falling  in  the  moral  sphere)  save  as  voluntary, 
and  every  voluntary  act,  as  the  entire  foregoing  analysis  indi- 
cates, is  the  self  operating,  and  hence  is  free.     Impulse  is  self,  \ 
the  developing  ideal  is  self;  the  rejection  of  the  ideal  as  meas-  . 
uring  and  controlling  impulse  is  self.     The  entire  voluntary  '[ 
process  is  one  of  self-expression,  of  coming  to  consciousness  of  I 
self.     This  intimate  and  thorough  going  self  ness  of  the  deed  / 
constitutes  freedom. 

Ethical  writers  have  distinguished  'formal'  and  'sub- 
stantial '  freedom ;  and  have  claimed  that  only  right  acts  are 
really  free.  This  claim  involves  this  truth:  Every  conscious 
act  is  free  in  the  sense  that  it  expresses  the  self;  it  is  psychol- 
ogically free.  But  is  the  intention,  the  purpose,  of  self,  one 
'really  possible'  ?  Does  it  square  with  the  conditions[of ^things, 
with  the  laws  of  the  universe  ?  Is  it  possible  for  the  self  to  be 
what  it  would  be?  No  intention  guarantees  its  own  execution. 
Its  execution  depends  upon  the  co-operation  of  reality;  it  must 
fit  into  the  forces  which  really  make  up  the  course  of  events. 


-130  — 

Now  if  the  self  has  a  solid  intention,  one  which  reality  itself 
reinforces,  one  whose  execution  is  guaranteed  by  the  conditions 
of  the  case,  the  agent  is  said  to  be  really,  as  well  as  formally, 
.  free.     But  if  his  intention  is  merely  subjective,  if  it  involves 
{  objective   impossibilities,   the    attempt    at    execution   involves 
»  friction,  loss,  a  negative,  or  destructive,  reaction  of  deed  into 
self.     In  such  cases,  the  agent  is  really  (ethically)  in  bondage. 
He  is  self  contradictory.     He  cannot  express  the  self  he  aims 
to  express.     It  is  not  so  much  a  paradox  as  it  seeins,  to  say 
that  only  the  good  can  be  really  willed;  that  we  only  seem  to 
will,  only  go  through  the  motions  or  form  of  willing,  the  bad. 
This  same  identity  of  self  and  deed  is,  of  course,  the  basis 
of  responsibility.     We  are  responsible  for  our  deeds  because 
they  are   ourselves.       Responsibility  is  a  name  for   the  fact 
that  we  are,  and  are  something  definite  and  concrete — specific 
individuals.     I  am  myself,  I  am  conscious  of  myself  in  my 
deeds,    (self-conscious),    I   am  responsible,   name   not   three 
facts,  but  one  fact. 

There  is  a  formal  and  a  substantial  responsibility.  One  is 
liable,  accountable,  held  responsible  for  his  acts,  because  they 
are  himself.  This  is  formal  responsibility,  and  may  coincide 
with  moral  irresponsibility.  Every  bad  man  is  (in  the  sub- 
stantial sense)  irresponsible;  he  cannot  be  counted  upon  in 
action,  he  is  not  certain,  reliable,  trustworthy.  He  does  not 
respond  to  his  duties,  to  his  functions.  His  impulses  and 
habits  are  not  coordinated,  and  hence  do  not  answer  properly 
to  the  stimuli,  to  the  demands  made.  The  vicious  man  is  not 
socially  responsible,  and  one  part  of  his  nature  does  not 
respond  to  the  whole.  Irresponsibility  is  but  another  name 
for  his  lack  of  unity,  of  integrity;  being  divided  within  himself, 
he  is  unstable,  we  can  never  be  sure  of  him,  he  is  not  sure  of 
himself.  Yet  this  is  consistent  with  formal  responsibility.  He 
is  capable  of  forseeing  consequences,  and  of  having  these  fore- 
seen consequences  influence  or  modify  his  conduct.  The 
person  who  fails  in  one  respect  or  other  of  these  factors  is 


—  131  — 

insane,  imbecile  or  morally  immature  and  is  not  responsible. 

One's  conduct  calls  forth  certain  reactions  from  others — 
reactions  as  natural  as  those  called  forth  when  one  comes  in 
contact  with  a  physical  force.  The  individual  lives  as  truly  in 
a  social  as  in  a  physical  environment,  and  the  reaction  of 
the  one  to  his  deed  is  as  much  an  intrinsic  organic  consequence 
of  the  deed  as  that  of  the  other.  If  the  individual  has  not 
properly  mediated  his  habit  or  impulse,  if  he  acts  upon  inten- 
tion which  is  one  sided,  the  reaction  brings  out  that  factor  of 
the  deed.  *  In  one  case,  it  may  be  the  burn  from  putting  his 
hand  in  the  fire,  the  other  case  the  rebuke  or  punishment  for 
violating  or  coming  short  of  social  functioning.  This  is  no 
external  consequence  (see  pp.  14-16);  it  is  an  organic  factor 
of  his  deed,  formerly  hidden,  but  brought  to  light  through  the 
action.  The  deed  executed  brings  the  agent  to  a  more  definite 
consciousness  of  himself;  the  reactions  of  others  in  the  way 
of  praise  or  blame  are  simply  phases  of  the  return  of  the  1 
deed  into  the  agent,  arousing  him  to  consciousness  of  certain  J 
features  hitherto  obscure.  A  person  who  is  not  capable  of 
such  experiences,  of  having  the  consequences  of  his  action 
react  back  into  himself,  and  become  motives  or  modify  char- 
acter, is  not  (even  formally)  responsible;  one  who  has  this 
capacity  is  responsible.  This  capacity  for  mediation  is  not 
the  cause,  and  responsibility  the  effect;  this  capacity  for 
mediation  is  responsibility. 

But  if  this  power  of  being  influenced  by  the  forseen  conse- 
quences is  a  habit  we  have  substantial  responsibility.  This  is 
an  attainment,  a  conquest,  not  an  original  possession;  it  is  a 
name  for  virtue  or  Tightness  of  will.  Such  a  man  is  respon- 
sible in  his  acts,  not  simply  liable  for  them.  He  does  not 
try  to  escape  himself  in  his  deeds;  when  they  are  bad,  he  does 
not  '  lay  it  off '  on  circumstances,  but  stands  up  to  the  reckon- 
ing, and  in  the  very  identification  of  himself  with  the  evil 
deed  in  its  consequences  gets  beyond  it.  He  meets  the 
demands  of  the  situation.  He  is  sufficiently  interested  in  his 
function  adequately  to  translate  it  into  its  rational  detail  of 


specific  aims,  and  to  carry  out  these  aims  to  overt  conclusion 
in  deeds.  Just  as  to  say  that  a  man  is  truly  free  is  to  recog- 
nize his  realization  of  moral  good,  so  to  say  that  one  is  truly 
responsible  is  to  give  him  the  highest  commendation  for  actual 
faithfulness  to  duty. 

SECTION  XL. — DETERMINIST  AND  INDETERMINIST  THEORIES. 

We  are,  however,  told  that  man  cannot  be  responsible 
unless  he  is  free  in  another  sense;  that  a  man  cannot  be  re- 
sponsible unless  at  the  time  when  he  acted  he  could  equally 
well  have  acted  otherwise  than  as  he  did  act,  and  th's  with- 
out any  change  of  character  and  motive.  We  are  told  that 
self- blame,  remorse,  etc.,  are  inexplicable  without  this  free- 
dom of  indifference;  and  that  rebuke  and  punishment  from 
others  become  meaningless  and  unjust  without  such  freedom. 
All  arguments  to  this  effect  seem  to  rest  upon  an  ambiguity. 
Just  so  far  as  a  man  believes  that  he  was  forced  to  act 
as  he  did  act,  he  excuses  himself — and  rightly;  the  act 
was  not  himself  at  all,  it  was  the  external  compulsory  force 
that  really  acted.  The  condition  of  responsibility,  that  the 
deed  be  the  concrete  will  or  unified  self,  is  absent.  The 
confusion  comes  in  when  absence  of  adequate  self-motiva- 
tion ^is  substituted  for  absence  of  external  compulsion.  'I 
might  have  done  otherwise' — that  consciousness  is  itself  my 
miserable  condition,  my  blame  or  remorse,  and  not  simply 
a  condition  of  it  ( pp.  77-8 ) ;  but  what  it  means  is  not  that 
I  might  arbitrarily  or  with  no  different  self  have  done  other- 
wise, but  that  the  sole  reason  for  my  acting  as  I  did  lies 
in  myself,  is  attributable  to  no  external  cause.  I  might  have 
done  otherwise  had  I  been  a  better  self,  had  I  been  a  worthy 
person — had  I  been  one  to  whom  this  right  end  adequately 
appealed,  but  I  was  not  such  an  one;  I  was  just  such  an  one 
as  would  do  this  sort  of  deed,  which  I  now  see  in  all  its  bad- 
ness; this  is  my  blame. 

The  whole  problem  arises  because  the  objector  insists  upon 
carrying  the  dualism  between  agent  and  deed  which  he  him- 


-133  — 

self  makes  over  into  the  doctrine  of  his  opponent.  He  contin- 
ually says:  'Ah,  then,  according  to  your  doctrine,  the  agent  at 
the  time  he  acted  could  not  have  done  otherwise  than  as  he 
did;  this  I  call  not  freedom  but  necessity.'  He  has  simply 
imported  here  his  own  separation  of  agent  and  act.  Upon  the 
basis  of  the  theory  against  which  the  objection  is  brought,  this 
sentence  must  be  rendered  as  follows:  'The  man  was  himself 
and  did  act  precisely  as  he  acted.'* 

The  entire  sting  of  the  proposition  vanishes  and  it  becomes 
a  harmless  truism.  But  the  content  of  this  truism  gives  the 
only  basis  of  responsibility.  Everything  which  lessens  or 
loosens  the  concrete,  specific  organic  connection  of  the  agent 
with  his  act.  in  just  so  much  relieves  the  agent  from  responsi- 
bility for  his  act.  If  the  abstract,  metaphysical  will  or  self 
intervenes  between  the  concrete  self,  the  impulses,  habits,  ends, 
and  the  deed,  then  it  and  not  this  concrete  individuality  must 
assume  the  responsibility  for  the  act;  it  is  none  of  my  doing. 
In  the  desire  to  magnify  the  self,  the  indeterminists  deny  the 
specific,  real  self,  which  is  in  and  through  action,  and  erect 
an  abstract,  outside  self,  reducing  freedom  to  an  irrationality, 
and  responsibility  to  a  myth. 

Only  a  few  of  the  indeterminists  carry  the  argument  be- 
yond an  expansion,  generally  rhetorical  and  hortatory,  of  the 
dependence  of  self -blame  and  just  punishment  upon  abilitjr  to 
have  acted  otherwise.  Martineau  has  attempted  a  more  de- 
tailed statement  (Study  of  Religion,  Vol.  II,  Bk.  Ill,  Ch.  2, 
esp.  pp.  210-227).  An  analysis  of  this  shows  that  the  real 
origin  of  the  doctrine  of  indifference  is  not  the  need  of  justify- 
ing moral  responsibility,  but  a  defective  psychological  analysis 
of  will,  making  of  it  an  impossible  abstraction. 

Mr.  Martineau  gives  the  following  case  (pp.  213-215).  You 
suffer  from  calumny  admitting  disproof;  to  make  the  exculpa- 
tion would  cast  a  shadow  on  some  one  else,  or  embitter  some 

*  The  '  determinism,'  in  other  words  is  a  logical  determinate- 
ness,  and  not  an  external  pre-determinism.  See  an  article  in  the 
Monist,  Vol.  Ill,  p.  362,  The  Superstition  of  Necessity. 


-134- 

precious  friendship.  The  impulse  to  exculpate,  self  is  arrested  by 
another  impulse,  equally  natural.  Now  in  the  decision  of  this 
conflict  Martineau  claims  that  the  following  factors  are  involved: 

(1)  "The  two  incompatible  springs  of  action;  (2)  Your  own  past, 
i.  e.,  a  certain  formed  system  of  habits  and  dispositions  brought 
from  your  own  previous  use  of  life.  The  former  head  comprises  the 
motives  that  are  offered;  the  latter  the  character  that  has  come  to 
be.  Do  these  settle  the  matter  between  them?  *  *  *  Or,  is  our 
account  of  what  is  there  still  incomplete,  and  must  we  admit  that 
besides  our  formed  habit  or  past  self,  there  is  also  a  present  self  that 
has  a  part  to  perform  in  reference  to  both?  *  *  *  In  all  cases  of 
self-consciousness  and  self-action  there  is  necessarily  this  duplica- 
tion of  the  ego  into  the  objective,  that  contains  the  felt  and  predi- 
cated phenomena  at  which  we  look,  or  may  look,  and  the  sub- 
jective, that  apprehends  and  uses  them.  It  is  with  the  latter  that 
the  preferential  power  and  personal  causality  reside."  And  further 
(p.  216): 

"  I  submit  that  no  one  can  sincerely  deem  himself  incapable  by 
nature  of  controlling  his  impulses  and  modifying  his  acquired  char- 
acter. That  he  .is  able  to  make  them  the  objects  of  examination, 
comparison  and  estimate,  places  him  in  a  judicial  and  authoritative 
attitude  towards  them,  and  would  have  no  meaning  if  he  were  not 
to  decide  what  influence  they  should  have.  The  casting  vote  and 
verdict  upon  the  offered  motives  is  with  him,  and  not  with  them- 
selves; he  is  '  free '  to  say  '  yes '  or  '  no  '  to  any  of  their  suggestions; 
they  are  the  conditions  of  the  act;  he  is  its  agent.  *  *  *  *  You 
do  not  let  yourself  sway  to  and  fro  with  varying  fling  of  the  motives 
upon  your  character,  like  a  floating  logon  an  advancing  and  retreat- 
ing wave;  but  address  yourself  to  an  active  handling  of  their  pre- 
tensions. *  *  *  *  You  yourself,  as  a  personal  centre  of  intelli- 
gent- and  causality  are  at  the  head  of  the  transaction  and  determine 
how  it  shall  go." 

The  passage  has  been  quoted  at  length  because  it  clearly 
reveals  the  process  which  leads  to  the  fiction  of  a  distinct, 
deciding  self,  a  self  separate  from  the  material  estimated,  the 
impulses  competing.  That  process  is  an  unreal  abstraction  of 
motive  on  one  side,  and  of  character  on  the  other.  These 
abstractions  being  erected  into  fixed  things,  some  other  power 
has  to  be  brought  in  to  make  up  for  the  omitted  elements  and 


—  135  — 

to  bridge  the  gulf: — Martineau's  third  factor,  or  self  in  which 
alone  selecting  power  resides.  If  motive  and  if  character  were 
what  Martineau  assumes  them  to  be,  certainly  something  else 
would  be  required  to  get  a  moral  action  under  way. 

(1)  Consider  the  matter  from  the  side  of  'motive,'  and  see 
what  an    impossible    abstraction   Mr.    Martineau   has  made. 
Here  is  the  impulse  to  clear  one's  repute;  there  the  impulse 
not  to  hurt  the  friend's  reputation  or  affection.    And  these  set 
over  against  character,  and  supposed  to  be  acting  upon  it  or 
acted  on  by  it!     A  very  moderate  amount  of  reflection  will 
reveal  that  each  impulse  is  what  it  is,  in  intensity,*  in  intel- 
lectual significance  and  in  moral  weight,  as  a  function  of  char- 
acter.    The  desire  to  clear  my  standing  cannot  even  occur  to 
me  save  as  I  have  certain  habits  and  dispositions.     Its  very 
existence  is  the  expression  of  a  certain  tendency  of  character; 
what  it  is,  whether  a  mere  dislike  to  be  thought  ill  of,  a  love 
of  popularity  for  its  own  sake,  a  recognition  of  the  commercial 
or  professional  value  of  good  standing,  or  the  need  of  having 
everything  that  concerns  one  squared  and  true — all  this  is  consti- 
tuted wholly  by  character;  finally,  the  weight  which  it  has  with 
respect  to  other  '  motives,'  the  relative  value  attached  to  it,  the 
whole   process  of   estimation,    etc.,   is   a  process   of   internal 
development,  of  revelation  of  the  extent  to  which  character  is 
bound  up  with,  is  present  in  the  motive.     The  mere  appear- 
ance of  the  'impulse'  is  the  immediate,  hasty,  possibly  super- 
ficial moving  of  character  in  a  given  direction;  the  constitu- 
tion of  its  intellectual  significance    and  moral  import  is  the 
mediated,  persistent  assertion  of  self,  developing  itself  in  this 
defined  direction.     And  the  completion  of   the  motive  is  the 
volition,  the  deed. 

(2)  Equally  fictitious  is  the  assumption  of  the  character 
as  fixed,  given  or  presupposed.     One  would  imagine  from  Mr. 
Martineau's  account  that  habit  means  only  mechanical  routine, 

*  Martineau  afterwards  recognizes  this  much  (p.  229),  but  with- 
out reconstructing  his  theory  of  motives  at  all.  They  still  remain 
objective,  phenomenal,  etc.,  etc. 


—  136  — 

formation  is  equivalent  to  fossilization  and  organization 
to  a  static  arrest  of  development.  When  one  reflects  that 
the  difference  in  the  dynamic  efficiency  of  amoeba  and  man 
is  the  difference  in  habits,  in  structure,  in  organization, 
one  sees  how  much  truth  is  likely  to  be  arrived  at  from  this 
assumption.  Habit  is  no  final,  rigid  attainment — were  it  only 
for  the  reason  that  every  habit  is  a  dependent  function  of  the 
whole  organism,  is  a  member  of  a  system  of  habits,  and  must 
co-ordinate,  must  stimulate  and  be  stimulated  by  others — must, 
in  a  word,  be  flexible,  continually  readjusting  itself.  The 
development  of  volition  is  a  continued  exhibition,  self -revela- 
tion of  character,  just  as  the  formation  of  motive  is  one  with 
passage  of  self  into  unified  activity  or  deed.  We  know  what 
we  are  and  what  we  can  be  only  through  what  we  do.  If 
character  were  this  solid,  inert  lump  that  Martineau  conceives 
it,  undoubtedly  it  could  not  originate  an  act  which  is  free  and 
responsible.  But  in  reality  the  whole  process  of  initiating 
impulse,  considering,  deliberating,  choosing  is  a  movement  of 
character  aiming  at  adequate  discovery  and  exhibition  of  self. 

(3)  The  necessity  of  the  third  factor,  the  deciding  self,  is 
a  necessity  originated  wholly  through  the  failure  to  recognize 
the  present  moving  self  in  'motive'  and  'character.'  The 
defect  comes  out  clearly  when  we  find  the  problem  stated  as  if 
it  were  an  alternative  between  determination  of  the  volition  by 
character  and  motive,  or  by  the  Self,  the  free  will.  It  is  in 
reality  simply  a  question  of  the  resolution  of  a  volition  into  its 
definite  factors.  There  is  no  third  thing,  a  volition,  deter- 
mined by  motive;  the  volition  is  the  completed  motive;  and 
just  so  it  is  the  exhibited  character,  the  fulfilled  self.  The 
introduction  of  self  as  a  third  factor  (instead  of  the  recognition 
that  the  whole  process  is  one  of  self -movement)  marks  the 
break,  due  to  defective  psychological'  analysis,  between  character 
and  deed.  It  is  the  flagrant  symbol  of  the  failure  to  recognize 
that  the  deed  is  the  concrete  agent,  the  self  in  functional  (that 
is,  definitive  and  co-ordinated)  activity. 


—  137  — 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  Martineau  (and  so  with  all 
the  other  indeterminists)  simply  accepts  the  adequacy  of  the 
necessitarian  psychology  of  volition  up  to  a  certain  point, 
accepts  its  dualistic  separation  of  impulse  and  motive  from 
self,  and  then,  seeing  the  ethical  insufficiency,  help  themselves 
out  by  bringing  in  the  Dens  ex  Machina,  a  Free  Will.  This 
is  the  reason  the  contests  between  indeterminists  and  deter - 
minists  (in  the  causational,  not  logical  sense)  are  so  futile 
and  unending.  Both  have  the  same  premisses,  the  product  of 
inadequate  psychological  analysis.  The  only  way  to  'rescue' 
freedom  from  the  attack  of  the  determinist  is  not  to  bring  it  in 
as  a  '  third  factor,'  but  to  reconstruct  the  theory  of  motive  and 
character  to  bring  out  the  functional  presence  of  the  self  in 
them,  and  their  consequent  flexible,  dynamic  structure. 

The  criticism  of  the  indeterminist  holds  equally,  therefore, 
against  the  determinist,  that  is,  the  predeterminist.  He  makes 
the  same  abstraction  of  motive,  erecting  hunger,  love  of  praise, 
modesty,  etc.,  into  little  entities  which  pull  and  haul  on  a  self 
outside  of  them.  Or,  going  into  a  wider  field,  he  talks  of  the 
determination  of  self  by  heredity  and  environment.  He  has 
the  two  things,  set  over  against  each  other,  and  with  only  a 
mechanical  connection  between  them,  one  of  force,  just  as  the 
indeterminist  can  get  only  an  arbitrary  relation.  They  both 
argue  then  as  if  it  were  a  question  between  mechanical  causa- 
tion on  one  side,  and  arbitrary  interference  on  the  other,  forget- 
ting that  both  alternatives  arise  from  the  unexamined  assump- 
tion of  the  dualism  of  self  and  ideal  and  motive.  The  whole 
controversy  vanishes  in  thin  air  when  we  substitute  for  the 
determination  of  volition  by  circumstances  or  by  Free  Will, 
the  determination  of  Self  in  volition,  in  deed — its  passage 
into  definite,  unified  activity. 

The  best  statement  of  the  determinist  position  will  be  found  in 
Bain,  Emotions  and  Will,  ch.  XI.  For  indeterminism,  see,  besides 
the  above  reference  to  Martineau,  his  Types,  Vol.  II,  pp.  34-8; 
Lotze,  Practical  Philosophy,  and  James,  Unitarian  Review,  Vol. 
XXII,  p.  193;  Dilemma  of  Determinism  (James's  refutation  of  Pre- 


—  138  — 

determinism  is  convincing;  but  I  see  nothing  in  his  positive  argu- 
ment for  indeterminism  which  does  not  fall  in  with  the  determin- 
ateness  of  action  argued  for  above);  Calderwood,  Handbook,  Part  II, 
chs.  3  and  4.  Stephen's  Science  of  Ethics,  pp.  274-293,  seems  to  be 
in  unstable  equilibrium  between  predeterminism  and  determinate- 
ness.  Much  the  same  may  be  said  for  Gizycki,  Introduction,  ch.  VI. 
Green,  Prolegomena.  Bk.  II,  ch.  i,  would  be  in  substantial  agree- 
ment with  the  view  above  stated  were  it  not  for  his  abstract  view  of 
the  Self,  whick  compels  him  to  separate  self  as  ideal  (future)  from 
character,  making  the  latter  fixed,  or  past  only,  and  thus  bringing 
him  to  the  determination  of  deed  by  character  and  circumstance. 
Alexander,  Moral  Order,  pp.  336-41,  does  not  seem  to  me  wholly  free 
from  the  idea  of  character  as  static,  but  brings  out  more  clearly 
than  any  other  writer  that  choice,  preference  is  freedom,  and  that  it 
is  irrational  to  try  to  get  back  of  choice  as  both  indeterminist  and 
predeterminist  attempt  to  do  Dr.  Ritchie,  Ethical  Implications  of 
Determinism,  Philos.  Rev.,  Vol.  II,  p.  529,  turns  the  tables  neatly 
against  the  indeterminist's  usual  assertion  that  he  alone  can  'rescue' 
responsibility.  (Gizycki  is  strong  here  also;  Hodgson's  statement, 
quoted  in  Martineau,  Study,  II,  224,  is  also  excellent).  Bradley's 
Ethical  Studies,  I,  is  a  thorough-gcing  statement  of  the  identity  of 
freedom  and  responsibility,  as  they  are  valued  by  the  popular  con- 
sciousness, with  concrete  Selfhood.  Muirhead,  Elements,  pp.  50-54; 
and  Mackenzie,  Manual,  pp.  140-50,  are  in  accord  with  the  text,  but 
hardly  adequate  upon  the  psychological  side. 


—  139  — 

CHAPTER  IX.— VIRTUE  AND  THE  VIRTUES. 

SECTION  XLI. — THE  Two-FoLD  STATEMENT  OF  VIRTUE. 

It  is  implied  in  what  has  already  been  said  that  virtue,  the 
active  good  will,  or  unified  self,  may  be  stated  from  either  of 
two  standpoints;  that  of  freedom  or  of  responsibility.  Virtue 
may  be  considered  either  as  a  case  of  substantial  freedom,  of 
solid,  thoroughly  unified  action,  or  as  a  case  of  substantial 
responsibility,  of  flexible,  properly  adjusted,  interaction — the 
adequate  intellectual  recognition  of,  and  adequate  emotional 
interest  in,  the  demands  of  the  situation.  We  have,  here,  the 
emphasis,  first  upon  one  side,  then  upon  another,  of  the  idea 
of  coordination.  Coordination  implies  the  attained  order, 
organization — freedom.  But  as  coordination,  it  implies  the 
reciprocal  adjustment  of  the  various  stt&ordinate  activities  in- 
volved— responsibility. 

It  is  because  the  unity  of  will  is  a  functional,  a  dynamic 
unity,  because  deed  is  simply  self  in  full  activity,  that  freedom 
and  responsibility  are  the  correlative  phases  of  virtue.  Every 
organic  function  is  maintained  through  the  co-operation,  the 
working  together  of  a  number  of  organs,  and  the  higher  the 
specialization  of  the  function  (the  definiteness  of  the  deed), 
the  more  comprehensive  the  number  and  scope  of  reinforcing 
organs. 

Freedom,  again,  names  virtue  from  the  standpoint  of  good, 
of  value;  responsibility  from  the  standpoint  of  duty.  To  be  a 
free  and  responsible  self  at  every  point,  and  in  every  act,  is  at 
once  the  sole  law  and  the  sole  end  of  conduct.* 

This  gives  the  solution  of  the  apparent  paradox  of  virtue. 
Some  writers  insist  that  virtue  is  not  virtue  until  it  is  wholly 
free,  or  one's  very  nature,  until  it  is  spontaneous  self-movement 
from  sheer  inclination;  that  every  sign  of  struggle,  of  effort, 

*  The  principle,  it  may  be  observed,  is  formal  in  statement,  just 
because  it  is  so  full  of  detailed  content  in  actuality. 


—  140  — 

of  constraint,  must  be  eliminated.*  Others  hold  that  it  is  the 
essence  of  virtue  to  express  effort,  resistance  and  conquest;  it 
is,  in  Kant's  expressive  words,  "the  moral  disposition  warring," 
in  Laurie's,  "it  is  mediation  through  pain"  (Ethica,  p.  145). 
Now  a  case  can  be  made  out  for  either  of  these  positions;  and 
this  fact  would  seem  to  indicate  some  common  ground.  This 
is  found,  I  think,  in  the  fact  that  both  contentions  have  in  view 
in  their  conception  of  virtue  the  wholeness  of  the  self  in  the 
deed,  but  approach  it  from  different  points  of  view.  The 
first  view  thinks  of  the  relation  of  the  whole  to  the  part,  rein- 
forcing, completing  it;  the  self  so  present  in  the  deed  that 
there  is  no  resistance,  so  that  we,  as  Emerson  says,  "do  by 
knowledge  what  the  stones  do  by  structure."  It  is  the  full- 
ness of  the  mediation  that  is  in  mind.  The  second  view  thinks 
of  the  readjustment  of  the  original,  or  isolated,  tendency,  of 
the  part,  involved  in  its  membership  in  the  whole.  It  thinks 
of  the  re-construction,  the  readjustment  involved  in  mediation. 
It  is  not  because  there  has  been  no  struggle  that  we  identify 
virtue  with  full,  easy  nature,  nor  is  it  merely  because  of  strug- 
gle that  we  identify  virtue  with  conquest.  It  is,  in  both  cases, 
because  conquest  means  struggle  brought  to  an  issue.  We 
know  well  enough  that  the  man  to  whom  virtue  is  natural  has 
had  his  own  fights,  and  we  reverence  him  the  more  that  he 
has  subdued  his  own  enemies,  and  not  inflicted  part  of  the* 
burden  upon  us,  nor  distracted  our  own  efforts  by  continually 
calling  attention  to  his.  We  reverence  him  because  he  has 
turned  even  his  struggle  into  power. 

We  may  assume  that  the  position  of  maximum  ease  and 
aesthetic  freedom  in  the  human  body  is  not  one  of  impotence 
or  flabbiness,  or  even  of  being  asleep;  but  the  maximum  exer- 
tion of  all  the  muscles,  the  limit  being  found  in  the  principle 
of  balance.  In  looking  at  such  a  poise,  one  might  praise  it  as 
indicating  the  power  of  doing  maximum  work,  another  as  indi- 

*  See  Aristotle,  Ethics,  Bk.  II,  ch.  Ill,  and  still  more  expressly, 
Emerson,  Spiritual  Laws. 


—  141  — 

eating  that  it  is  not  work  but  play.  So,  after  all,  there  is  no 
inconsistency  in  the  statement  that  it  is  not  easy  to  be  vir- 
tuous, and  that  yet  we  are  not  virtuous  till  it  is  easy. 

SECTION  XLII. — THE  CLASSIFICATION  OF  VIRTUES. 

Virtue  being  the  wholeness  of  self,  the  full  and  definite 
manifestation  of  agent  in  act  (the  adequate  mediation  of 
impulse),  the  various  virtues  will  naturally  name  various 
phases  of  this  act.  The  main  phases  were  first  hit  upon  by 
Plato  ( Republic )  and  have  since  been  named  the  '  cardinal 
virtues.'  These  are  wisdom  (practical  judgment),  temperance, 
(self-control),  courage  and  justice.  After  the  psychological 
analysis  now  completed,  the  derivation  and  significance  of  the 
virtues  should  be  obvious.  Wisdom,  as  a  virtue,  is  evidently 
the  habit  of  considering  the  bearings  and  relations  of  a  given 
act;  it  is  the  habit  of  interpreting  and  appreciating  it  in  terms 
of  the  self,  of  taking  it  concretely  and  seriously,  instead  of 
abstractly;  whether  the  abstraction  be  of  brute  irrationality, 
or  of  that  sentimentality  which  sometimes  constitutes  an  over- 
refined  culture  and  sometimes  a  crude  flippancy.  It  is,  in 
short,  the  habit  of  defining  impulse  in  terms  of  its  objective 
content,  a  preparation  for  giving  its  due  function,  of  attaching 
it  to  its  proper  use. 

The  over- subjective  ethics  of  one-sided  individualism,  fos- 
tered by  evangelical  phases  of  Protestantism,  need  a  recon- 
struction upon  the  basis  of  Hellenic  thought  as  regards  this 
virtue.  The  modern  '  I  have  to  follow  my  conviction '  finds 
substantiality  only  in  the  ancient  'wisdom  is  the  guarantee  of 
all  virtues.'  There  is  and  can  be  no  duty  of  living  up  to  con- 
yiction  till  we  have  some  surety  as  to  the  rationality  of  convic- 
tion; no  duty  of  'obeying  conscience'  till  we  have  taken  pains 
to  have  an  instructed  conscience.  Moral  education  requires  a 
shifting  of  the  centre  of  obligation,  locating  it  less  in  the  mere 
doing  of  what  seems  to  be  right  and  more  as  the  habit  of 
searching  for  what  is  really  right.  As  mediaeval  Catholicism, 
in  its  consciousness  of  the  superiority  of  spirit  over  matter,  is 


—  142  — 

accused  of  confusing  dirt  with  piety,  so  modern  Evangelical- 
ism, in  its  emphasis  upon  moral  emotion  and  attitude,  is  open 
to  the  charge  of  encouraging  an  ignorant  sentimentalism  at 
the  expense  of  a  truthfulness  which  is  not  simply  formal  truth- 
telling,  but  which  insists  upon  knowing  what  the  truth  is. 

The  tendency  to  derogate  from  the  ethical  claims  of  knowl- 
edge on  the  ground  that  knowledge  is  merely  intellectual,  is 
entirely  aside  from  the  point.  As  long  as  an  idea  (an  aim, 
purpose,  reason)  is  essentially  involved  in  voluntary  conduct, 
so  long  responsibility  will  attach  to  the  formation  of  the  idea, 
and  attention  to  this  need  will  be  a  virtue.  While  the  idea 
itself,  in  its  content,  is  'merely  intellectual,'  that  factor  deter- 
mining what  this  content  shall  be,  is  not  '  intellectual '  at  all ; 
it  is  character :  which  may  be  stated,  in  emotional  terms  as  the 
interest  in  the  adequate  recognition  of  what  one  is  doing;  in 
volitional  terms,  as  the  habit  of  attending  to  the  bearing  and 
value  of  acts.  In  short,  it  is  that  phase  of  virtue  ordinarily 
termed  conscientiousness.  The  Socratic  identification  of  wis- 
dom and  virtue  is  much  nearer  the  truth  than  the  modern 
view  which,  holding  to  knowing  the  good  and  still  doing  the 
evil,  substitutes  a  conventional  state  of  being  informed,  a  second 
hand,  representative  or  symbolic  set  of  opinions,  for  vital  intel- 
ligence. 

So  much  for  the  mediate  side.  But  we  have  also  the  rela- 
tion of  the  mediate  and  immediate — the  tension  due  to  their 
interaction.  Now  because  this  is  a  process  of  mediation,  not 
of  suppression  or  substitution,  each  phase  of  the  process  must 
duly  assert  itself.  If  the  process  be  looked  at  from  the  side  of 
the  necessity  of  self-assertion  of  impulse,  we  have  courage. 
Courage,  as  a  virtue,  is  the  habit  of  adequate  persistence  on 
the  part  of  impulse,  in  the  face  of  external  resistance  or 
obstacles,  such  as,  when  transformed  into  self-experience,  give 
rise  to  fear. 

But  mediation  involves  change  of  direction,  and  this  in- 
volves the  adequate  assertion  of  the  mediating  activity.  As 


—  143  — 

the  present  felt  pleasure  is  apt  to  be  connected  with  the  imme- 
diate impulse,  representing  as  that  does  some  assured  satisfac- 
tion of  the  past,  we  seem  here  to  have  a  struggle  against  pleas- 
ure, as,  in  the  case  of  courage,  one  against  pain.  The  virtue 
of  adequate  assertion  of  the  mediating  activity  is  self-control, 
temperance,  in  the  Greek  sense  of  whole-mindedness. 

The  man  under  self-control  does  not  go  off  at  a  tangent, 
he  does  not  act  partially ;  he  has  himself  in  hand,  at  command, 
and  hence  acts  as  a  whole.  Unfortunately,  the  virtue  has 
become  associated  mainly  with  the  negative  aspect  of  this  vir- 
tue, with  the  immorality  of  false  asceticism  and  false  Puritan- 
ism. Self-denial  has  flourished  upon  the  perversion.  The 
rational  injunction,  deny  yourself  this  or  that  satisfaction,  has 
been  changed  into  the  impossible  and  immoral  injunction, 
Deny  Yourself — without  qualification.  That  is,  the  need  of 
checking  the  primary  tendency  of  a  desire,  the  need  of  trans- 
forming it  by  attaching  it  to  a  more  functional  end  has  been 
perverted  into  a  need  for  suppressing,  or,  if  tha£  is  impos- 
sible, minimizing,  desire  itself.  The  continual  assumption  has 
been  that  appetite  itself  is  evil.  In  reality,  the  negative  phase 
of  temperance  is  but  the  partial  development  of  the  positive, 
arrested  in  its  incompleteness.  It  is  but  a  step,  a  means;  as 
an  end  it  is  meaningless.  The  positive  phasev  clearly  embod- 
ied in  the  term  'control,'  is  power;  efficiency  as  an  agent  or 
instrument.  To  abstain,  to  mortify, — this,  taken  absolutely, 
is  immoral;  to  attain  mastery,  to  live,  undergoing  whatever 
sacrifice  and  refusal  of  particulars  may  be  involved  in  the 
attainment  of  full  power,  is  the  law  of  self.* 

There  is  need  for  a  return  to  the  Greek  standpoint  from 

*  So  far  as  '  egoism '  and  '  altruism  '  is  a  psychological  problem, 
this  principle  applies  there  also.  To  say  that  altruism  is  a  defini- 
tion of  the  ego,  indicating  its  essential  outgoing  character,  is  one 
thing;  to  suppose  that  besides  the  self  there  is  another  end  is  to 
affirm  a  psychological  impossibility.  The  sole  value  of  the  idea  of 
altruism,  in  other  words,  is  in  forming  a  demand  for  a  wide  and 
flexible  conception  of  self. 


—144;— 

which  many  traits  now  regarded  as  gifts  of  fortune,  or  as 
happy  acquirements,  as  talents  or  mere  accomplishments,  were 
considered  as  virtues.  The  very  term  'intellectual  virtue' 
sounds  strangely  to  our  ears,  so  given  up  are  we  to  the  habit 
of  considering  knowledge  as  the  choice  possession  of  a  few. 
Yet  continuity  of  thought,  power  of  concentration,  clear-sight- 
edness, sincerity,  all  these  are  but  particular  forms  which  the 
one  virtue  of  conscientiousness  assumes,  and  there  can  be  no 
concrete  conscientiousness  save  when  these  specific  powers  are 
developed  according  to  the  measure  of  the  agent.  So  persist- 
ence, patience,  honor,  good  humor  are  but  the  varied  mani- 
festations of  courage,  while  readiness,  alertness,  flexibility, 
industry,  balance,  decorum  are  as  much  forms  of  self-control 
as  are  chastity,  and  moderation  in  eating  and  drinking.  All  the 
so-called  minor  morals,  or  manners,  in  fact,  are  but  the 
detailed  contents  of  the  great  or  cardinal  virtues,  their  trans- 
lation into  the  daily  detail  without  which  conduct  is  a  barren 
ideality,  an  iridescent  dream.  If  it  be  said  that  concentra- 
tion of  attention,  good  humor,  presence  of  mind,  equable  tem- 
perament are  gifts  of  nature,  the  answer  is  'Yes,'  as  capaci- 
ties, '  No,'  as  habits.  And  precisely  the  same  is  to  be  said  of 
truthfulness,  modesty,  honesty,  charity,  or  any  virtue  which 
has  a  secured  place  in  the  catalog  of  the  Moral  Pantheon.  In 
every  case  there  is  a  natural  impulse  in  the  given  direction? 
which  becomes  virtue  when  transformed  into  a  rational  habit 
— that  is,  into  an  impulse  attached  to  the  realizing  of  a  cer- 
tain end  or  idea.  Our  failure  to  recognize  these  traits  as  true 
virtues  does  not  mark,  as  we  are  apt  to  flatter  ourselves,  an 
advance  over  the  Greeks  in  distinguishing  between  the  gifts  of 
nature  and  the  attainments  of  will;  it  marks  rather  a  falling 
off  in  the  standards  of  responsibility,  a  more  abstract  idea  of 
will. 

The  conception  that  Justice  is  a  term  applied  to  the  pro- 
cess in  its  entirety,  designating  its  organic  character,  the 
adequate  and  completed  unification  of  impulse  and  reason, 


—  145  — 

may  be  approached  by  reflection  upon  the  mutual  dependen- 
cies existing  between  wisdom,  temperance  and  courage.  Wis- 
dom is  impossible  without  courage;  what  makes  our  intentions, 
our  ideals,  imperfect  is  our  unwillingness  to  face  the  thought 
of  consequences  of  a  given  habit  or  desire;  our  tendency  to 
shy  when  the  first  unpleasant  thought  comes  to  view.  There 
is  no  courage  in  the  world  like  the  courage  of  holding  our.- 
selves  fairly  and  squarely  to  the  import*  of  our  own  deeds.  I 
From  this  point  of  view,  all  vice  is  letting  things  drift,  waiting 
to  see  what  will  turn  up,  hoping  for  a  turn  of  luck,  a  miracu- 
lous intervention  which  shall  come  between  our  deed  and 
its  legitimate  fruit.  (See  James,  II,  pp.  563-4,  for  an  excel- 
lent statement).  Wisdom  is  equally  dependent  upon  temper- 
ance. To  follow  the  lead  of  appetite,  of  passion,  is  the  same 
thing  as  not  to  think.  .  The  checked  impulse,  the  arrested 
habit,  is  reflection  commenced.  The  self-denial  of  prejudice, 
of  hastytassumption,  of  one-sided  opinion,  of  cherished  tradi- 
tion is  as  real  and  as  virtuous  as  the  conquest  of  any  lust  of 
the  flesh.  The  interdependence  of  courage  and  temperance 
stands  out  on  the  face  of  things  when  we  give  the  latter  its 
positive  name,  self-control.  Self-control  is  ever  passing  into 
self-assertion;  the  fruit  of  the  spirit  into  second  nature.  On 
the  other  side,  there  is  no  rejection  of  the  solicitations  of 
pleasure,,  of  the  allurements  of  the  Siren,  that  is  not  equally 
ability  to  bear  the  infliction  of  pain.  All  these  mutual  depen- 
dencies are  inexplicable,  if,  making  an  entity  of  each  virtue, 
we  suppose  them  to  be  causal.  They  are  inevitable  if  courage, 
temperance  and  wisdom  denote  simply  phases  of  every  moral 
act;  and  the  name  is  given  according  to  the  phase  which,  in  a 
given  case,  happens  to  be  uppermost. 

Justice,  then,  is  the  name  for  the  deed  in  its  entirety;  it 
names  as  a  whole  what  we  name  in  aspects  when  we  use  the 
other  virtues.  It  is  not  another  virtue;  it  is  the  system  of 
virtue,  the  organised  doing:  whose  organic  members  are  wis- 
dom, the  will  to  know;  courage,  the  impulse  to  reach,  control, 
the  acquired  power  to  do. 


—  146  — 

Justice  is  the  habit  of  maintaining  function,  concrete 
individuality,  in  its  supremacy  and  of  giving  every  impulse, 
desire,  habit  its  value  according  to  its  factorship  in  this  func- 
tion. Justice  conveys  so  fully,  in  the  very  term,  its  meaning 
of  regard  for  the  whole,  but  for  the  whole  maintained  by  the 
positive  maintenance  of  its  parts  as  organs,  instead  of  by 
their  suppression,  that  it  is  hardly  possible  to  bring  out  the 
idea  more  closely  with  any  number  of  words. 

Aristotle  (Ethics,  Bk.  V,  ch.  1),  points  out  a  supposed 
ambiguity  of  meaning  in  the  term  justice;  in  one  sense,  it  is 
equivalent  to  obedience  to  law,  and  equals  complete  virtue;  in 
this  sense  the  just  man  is  the  man  who  fulfills  all  require- 
ments, the  good  man.  In  the  other  sense,  it  means  fairness, 
equity;  the  just  man  being  he  who  demands  simply  his  share 
in  an  apportionment.  The  first  sense  is  the  whole  of  virtue; 
the  second  simply  a  part,  according  to  Aristotle. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  of  these  two  senses,  and  yet  I 
think  practical  sense  is  wiser  in  fusing  them  than  Aristotle 
in  separating  them.  It  seems,  again,  to  be  a  case  of  consid- 
ering the  organization  of  self  in  action,  the  co-ordination  of 
impulse  and  habit,  from  the  standpoint  first  of  the  co-ordin- 
ation as  such,  of  the  whole,  and  then  of  the  process  of 
co-ordering  the  constituent  factors.  The  just  man  (in  the 
first  sense),  is  after  all  simply  the  man  who  is  fair,  impartial 
in  meeting  demands;  he  is  the  man  who  adequately  distrib- 
utes his  attention,  giving  to  each  impulse  and  habit  precisely 
its  place,  neither  more  nor  less,  in  the  whole  function.  Be- 
cause the  unity  of  a  good  act  is  a  unity  of  function,  that  is 
of  content,  an  organization  (not  simply  a  formal  unity),  it 
must  have  the  aspect  of  the  adjustment,  the  fitting  in  of 
one  part  to  another.  But  co-ordination  both  as  effective  organ- 
ization, and  as  mutual  adjustment  of  parts  according  to  the 
claims  of  each  (equity),  is  goodness  as  a  whole;  the  differ- 
ence is  simply  one  of  emphasis.  If  justice  as  obedience  to 
moral  law  is  severed  from  justice  as  equity,  as  due  attention 


—  147  — 

to  every  aspect  of  one's  nature,  it  becomes  external,  the  law 
is  no  one  knows  what,  and  obedience  is  mere  conformity.  If 
justice,  as  due  sharing  in  the  distribution  of  a  whole,  is 
severed  from  justice  as  law-obeying,  it  loses  all  standard; 
there  is  no  measure  by  which  to  tell  what  the  due  share  of 
each  is. 

And  this  suggests  Aristotle's  other  division  of  justice  into 
corrective  and  distributive  (Bk.  V,  chs  3  and  4).  The  former 
is  sharing  in  the  distribution  of  an  evil  (i.  e.,  punishment), 
and  its  rule  is  arithmetical;  i.  e.,  make  the  individual  suffer 
according  to  his  deed — simple  re-quital,  redress.  The  latter 
is  sharing  in  the  distribution  of  honor,  wealth,  etc.,  positive 
goods;  and  its  law  is  not  arithmetical  equality,  but  geometrical 
(that  is,  proportion,  not  simply  equality  of  sums).  It  is  fair, 
(equal)  that  the  better  citizen  should  received  more,  not  the 
same  honor  as  another;  the  workman  of  skill  more,  not  the 
same  return  as  another.  It  seems  obvious  that  when  we 
deal  with  this  positive,  distributive  equity,  we  have  nothing 
save  justice  as  full  virtue.  Certainly  the  man  who  gives  value 
to  every  impulse  and  habit  according/  to  its  service  in  the 
constitution  of  his  function  is  precisely  the  good  man,  the 
man  of  fully  mediated  impulse,  of  adequate  concrete  interests 
in  life. 

And  this  suggests  that  the  current  distinction  between  jus- 
tice as  penal,  and  justice  as  concrete  recognition  of  positive 
merit  by  the  share  awarded  an  agent  in  the  conferring  of 
praise,  honor  or  wealth,  is  far  too  rigid.  Justice,  in  this  dis- 
tributive aspect,  involves  the  whole  question  of  merit  and 
blame,  and  of  rendering  a  man  his  due.  If  we  ask  what  is 
his  due,  we  are  told  his  deserts;  his  merits  according  to  his 
service.  Then  into  this  answer,  not  so  much  true  as  tautolog- 
ical, is  unconsciously  inserted  an  assumption  of  the  most  mo- 
mentous character.  The  question,  what  is  a  man's  due,  his 
desert,  his  merit;  that  is,  what  estimate  is  to  be  set  upon  him; 
remains  wholly  unanswered;  but  unconsciously  there  is  smug- 


—  148  — 

gled  in  the  assumption  that  worth  is  static,  that  it  is  to  be 
measured  by  what  the  man  has  done;  that  what  the  man  has 
done  is  somehow  complete  in  itself,  and  serves  to  indicate  his 
merit,  and,  therefore,  the  way  in  which  he  should  be  treated. 
Service  is  taken  as  some  thing  rendered,  not  as  function. 

Ke-tribution,  re-quital  is,  indeed,  just;  it  is  the  good,  and 
the  only  good;  but,  after  all,  what  is  retribution?  And  the 
assumption  that  it  is  an  arithmetical  measuring  out  to  the  indi- 
vidual of  pain  similar  to  that  which  he  has  inflicted,  the  restor- 
ing of  an  algebraic  equation,  is  monstrous  as  an  assumption, 
even  if  it  should  turn  out  to  be  justified  by  examination.  The 
whole  subject  of  a  standard  of  measurement  is  ignored,  and 
yet  that  is  the  all  determining  question. 

What  is  due  the  self  is  that  it  be  treated  as  self;  what  is 
due  a  man  is  that  he  be  regarded  in  his  manhood.  Nothing 
less  than  this  is  '  fair.'  But  a  given  deed  taken  as  something 
which  has  been  performed  is  not  the  self,  it  is  an  isolation, 
an  arrest,  an  abstraction.  The  deed  in  its  living  concrete 
character  is  activity;  it  has  the  whole  self  implicit  in  it,  and 
that  self  is  an  urgent,  on-going  power,  not  a  finished  perform- 
ance, or  a  settled  accomplishment.  What  is  due  the  self  is 
that  it  be  made  aware  of  itself  in  its  deed,  be  brought  to  full 
consciousness  of  itself  through  the  mediation  of  the  deed.  In 
other  words,  its  due  is  that  its  deed  in  fact  and  not  merely  in 
name  be  the  self  manifested,  and  that  there  follow  the  re-action, 
the  re-flection  of  the  '  consequences '  of  the  deed  back  into  im- 
pulse and  habit;  that  character  be  transformed  and  developed 
through  this  continual  mediation. 

Now  this  reaction  may  be  of  a  kind  to  inhibit,  and  require 
modification  of  dominant  habits.  In  that  case  there  is  pain, 
punishment.  The  return  of  the  deed  into  the  agent's  con- 
sciousness is  painful,  negative,  i.  e.,  destructive.  It  tends  to 
disturb,  to  uproot  existing  tendencies  or  directions  of  action. 
But  this,  of  course,  is  but  the  first  phase  in  re  construction,  in 
the  re-adjustment;  it  is  new  habit  beginning.  That  is,  so  far 


—  149  — 

as  the  pain  is  normal,  and  not  pathological,  it  is  reform. 
Stated  in  the  abused  antithesis  of  current  language,  all  punish- 
ment is  re-tribution,but  the  only  genuine  retribution  is  reform. 
The  conception  that  the  desert  of  the  self  is  anything  other 
than  to  be  self  is  as  monstrous  in  its  content  as  it  is  as  an 
assumption.  No  man  can  concretely  realize  the  definition  of 
the  self  involved  in  any  other  idea,  without  indignation  at  the 
degradation,  the  meanness  of  character  involved  in  the  harbor- 
ing of  such 'an  idea  about  manhood  aud  life.  The  worst  pes- 
simism is  not  that  which  flaunts  itself  as  such,  but  that  which 
damns  human  nature  at  its  very  heart. 

But  the  very  fact  that  it  is  necessary  to  spend  so  much 
time  upon  justice  as  penal,  shows  how  almost  completely, 
under  the  influence  of  one-sided  aspects  of  Christianity,  ethical 
theory  has  come  to  be  dominated  by  pathological,  rather  than 
by  healthy,  physiological  considerations.  The  normal  case, 
that  to  which  punishment  is  incident,  is  the  reaction  of  the 
whole  into  the  part,  of  function  into  habit,  stimulating,  rein- 
forcing, expanding — setting  free.  Justice  is  thus  self-realiza- 
tion. 

The  contention  that  the  'Platonic'  classification  of  cardinal 
virtues  is  incomplete,  and  needs  to  be  supplemented  by  the 
distinctively  Christian  virtues  of  faith,  humility,  aspiration 
(reverence)  and  love  is  due  simply  to  retaining  narrow  con- 
ceptions of  wisdom,  courage,  temperance  and  justice.  Aspira- 
tion, hope,  if  other  than  sentimental  longing,  is  self-assertion, 
courage  in  its  pure  form;  and  the  same  may  be  said  of  the  rela- 
tion of  temperance  to  humility,  if  the  latter  is  other  than  arti- 
ficial self-effacement.  Faith,  as  virtue,  is  but  the  adequate 
consciousness  of  the  practical  character,  the  volitional  stamp 
of  all  knowledge:  the  staking  one's  self  upon  the  reality  of  the 
idea,  affirming  it  absolutely  as  identical  with  self,  instead  of 
resting  content  with  the  easy  acknowledgment  of  it  as  mere 
object. 

When  it  was  said  that  the  ordinary  conception  of  desert 
concealed  a  momentous  assumption,  it  was  meant  that  the 


—  150  — 

whole  dualism  of  justice  and  love  is  involved.  If  justice  be 
conceived  as  mere  return  to  an  individual  of  the  equivalent  of 
what  he  has  done;  if  his  deeds,  in  other  words,  be  separated 
from  his  vital,  developing  self,  and,  if  therefore,  the  'equiva- 
lent return'  ignore  the  profound  and  persistent  presence  of 
self -hood  in  the  deed,  then  it  is  true  that  justice  is  narrow  in 
its  sphere,  harsh  in  form,  requiring  to  be  supplemented  by 
another  virtue  of  larger  outlook  and  freer  play — Grace.  But  if 
justice  be  the  returning  to  a  man  of  the  equivalent  of  his  deed, 
and  if,  in  truth,  the  sole  thing  which  equates  the  deed  is  self, 
then  quite  otherwise.  Love  is  justice  brought  to  self-con- 
sciousness; justice  with  a  full,  instead  of  partial,  standard  of 
value;  justice  with  a  dynamic,  instead  of  static,  scale  of  equi- 
valency. 

Psychologically,  then,  love  as  justice  is  not  simply  the 
supreme  virtue;  it  is  virtue.  It  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law — 
the  law  of  self.  Love  is  the  complete  identification  of  subject 
and  object,  of  agent  and  "function,  and,  therefore,  is  complete 
in  every  phase.  It  is  complete  interest  in,  full  attention  to, 
the  objects,  the  aims  of  life,  and  thus  insures  responsibility. 
It  provides  the  channels  which  give  the  fullest  outlet  to  self, 
which  stirs  up  the  powers  and  keeps  them  at  their  fuHest  ten- 
sion, and  thus  guarantees,  or  is,  freedom,  adequate  self-expres- 
sion. It  alone  is  wisdom,  for  anything  but  love  fails  to  pene- 
trate to  the  reality,  the  individuality  of  self,  in  every  act,  and 
thus  comes  short  in  its  estimate  of  values.  It  alone  is  cour- 
age, for,  in  its  complete  identification  with  its  object,  obstacles 
exist  only  as  stimuli  to  renewed  action.  It  alone  is  temper- 
ance, for  it  alone  provides  an  object  of  devotion  adequate  to 
keep  the  agent  in  balance  and  power.  It  alone  is  justice,  deal- 
ing with  every  object,  aim  and  circumstance  according  to  its 
rights  as  a  constituent,  a  member,  an  organ  of  self — the  sole 
ultimate  and  absolute. 

In  many  respects  the  discussions  of  virtue  by  Plato  and  Aris- 
totle are  still  unequaled.  The  Platonic  dialogues  are  so  permeated 
with  the  idea  of  virtue  throughout  that  it  is  impossible  to  give 
specific  adequate  references.  The  Republic,  427-434,  suggests  the 
main  principle.  See  Aristotle,  Ethics,  Bks.  Ill,  Chs.  6-12;  IV,  V, 
VI.  Modern  ethics  has  been  so  occupied  with  the  problem  of  duty 


—  151  — 

in  its  metaphysical  and  practical  aspects  as  to  be  very  defective  in 
its  treatment  of  virtue.  For  the  most  part,  the  question  is  ignored 
or  else  there  is  given  an  empirical  cataloguing  of  virtues,  with  no 
attempt  to  discover  any  principle.  Again,  the  writings  which  do 
use  a  principle  of  classification  generally  use  that  of  individual  and 
social  virtues,  failing  to  see  that  no  matter  how  social  a  virtue  may 
be  in  its  content  and  object,  it  must,  as  a  quality  of  character,  or 
attitude  and  disposition  of  will,  be  capable  of  a  thorough  going  psy- 
chological statement.  Since  a  certain  type  of  character,  since  the 
right  activity  of  will,  is  confessedly  the  goal  of  all  practical  endeavor, 
the  slighting  of  this  goal  in  the  theoretical  treatments,  as  if  it  were 
a  mere  incident  or  corollary,  is  the  more  fatal.  The  following  refer- 
ences will  serve  to  indicate  the  various  methods  of  treatment: 
Sidgwick,  Methods  of  Ethics,  Bk.  Ill,  Chs.  2-5;  9-10;  Bk.  IV,  Ch.  3; 
Spencer,  Principles  of  Ethics,  Vol.  II,  especially,  pp.  3-34  and  263- 
276  (Justice  is  public;  Beneficence  private,  and  either  negative  or 
positive);  Stephen,  Science,  Ch.  V,  courage,  temperance,  truthful- 
ness—individual, efficiency  of  the  agent;  justice  and  benevolence, — 
social  vitality.  In  spite  of  this  (to  me)  false  disjunction,  Stephen's 
treatment  is  exceedingly  real  and  faithful  in  detail;  Alexander, 
Moral  Order  and  Progress,  pp.  242-253  (denies  the  value  of  psycho- 
logical classification,  holding  they  refer  to  social  institutions— has 
the  advantage  of  sticking  to  a  single,  instead  of  a  cross,  principle  of 
classification). 

The  question  of  'natural  ability'  vs.  'virtue'  is  suggestively 
handled  by  Hume,  Treatise,  Part  II,  Bk.  3,  Sec.  4,  and  Inquiry,  Ap- 
pendix IV.  See  also  Bonar,  Intellectual  Virtues. 

The  literature  upon  penal  justice  or  punishment  is  almost  end- 
less. Emerson's  Essay  on  Compensation  has  the  advantage  of  being 
written  from  the  normal  instead  of  the  pathological  point  of  view- 
and  is  a  good  substitute  for  a  large  quantity  of  other  discussions. 


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